mill. I think he is so like my mother--always trying to make other people

happier. You loved her, Hennie, and you know him. I want you to help me to be unselfish like them."

During this recital, Mrs. Henderson underwent a severe test in self-repression, the high praise of Obadiah's disinterestedness nearly causing severe internal injury. There was yet an ominous flash in her eye as she bade the girl farewell.

Virginia found her father awaiting her. His digestive organs were protesting by certain unpleasant twinges, against the extra work he had forced upon them.

"Where have you been?" he demanded of her sharply.

She dropped into the chair by his side. "At Mrs. Henderson's, Daddy."

"You left me alone," he complained.

"You went to sleep and I was so lonesome, Daddy dear."

"That makes no difference. You should not have left me. You have the week days to yourself. I ought to have your Sundays."

"Oh, I am sorry that I was so thoughtless," Virginia reproached herself, with a suspicion of tears in her eyes.

"Yes, you were thoughtless," Obadiah grumbled. "You must learn to think of others. Don't get teary. That always disturbs me."

Virginia was engaged in a battle to keep back her tears when the notes of a ragtime melody resounded through the calm of the Sabbath evening. Ike approached. The gorgeousness of his apparel eliminated every variety of lily, except the tiger, from consideration. His suit was of electric blue. His shirt was white, broadly striped with royal purple, and it peeped modestly from beneath a tie of crimson. His hat was straw, decorated with a sash of more tints than the bow of promise.

Ike was happy. He had loitered through the afternoon before the meeting house of his faith, impressing the brethren and the sisters with the magnificence of his attire. He deemed it, socially speaking, to have been a perfect day.

It was now his intention to partake of refreshment before returning again into the shadow of the sacred edifice, not then, however, to give pleasure to the faithful in general, but rather for the special and particular delight of an amber hued maiden who at the moment held his flitting fancy.

Filled with pleasant anticipations and in cadence with his melody, Ike approached the house.

Obadiah arose hastily as the sweet tones struck his ear and awaited the arrival of the musical one at the edge of the porch.

At the sight of the gaunt form of the manufacturer, a dulcet timbre departed from Ike's performance and as he approached, the volume of sound diminished in proportion to the square of the distance. Opposite the mill owner it ceased.

"Good evening Misto Dale." The voice was humbly courteous.

Disdaining the kindly salutation of his hireling, Obadiah made outcry. "I want the car. Get the car," he commanded.

Ike halted.

These were portentous words. The Dale car was not often used on the seventh day. Ike himself was opposed to the Sunday riding habit. Assuming a confidential attitude towards his employer as if imparting a secret of moment, he intimated, "Ah ain' got no confidence in dat lef' han' hin' tiah, Misto Dale, a tall."

Obadiah glared at the tasty garb of his minion with disgust, and flew into a rage. "I pay you to put confidence in that tire," he bleated.

"Yas'r, yas'r," Ike surrendered hurriedly. "Ah gwine pump er li'l aiah in dat tiah. Dat fix 'im."

When Ike, shorn of his finery, returned with the car, Virginia, in obedience to an abrupt invitation from her father, was prepared to join him for the ride.

Obadiah's conscience did not usually trouble him; but today, as the machine started and he settled himself by his daughter, it struck him that she seemed unusually pale. He could not well overlook, either, the note of sadness which had played about the girl's mouth and eyes since his remarks to her. These things made Obadiah uncomfortable. His explosion at Ike had acted as a counter-irritant to his indigestion, and he felt relieved.

They passed a woman driving a pretty runabout. In times of great good feeling Obadiah had avowed his intention of purchasing Virginia a light car which she could drive herself. However, it took direct affirmative action to persuade the mill owner to open his check book even for his own family; and, as Virginia had been contented with the big car and Ike to drive it, nothing had ever come of the intention.

"Did you notice that runabout?" Obadiah inquired. "How would one of that type suit you?" If he could get Virginia to chatter along as usual, he could enjoy his evening.

"Oh, I'd like it," she exclaimed. The girl was thinking rapidly. Not for nothing was she Obadiah's daughter when it was necessary to take advantage of a situation. "I thought that you had given up the idea of getting me a car, Daddy."

"No, indeed. It seemed to me that you were not particularly interested in one." He shrewdly placed the responsibility for delay upon her.

"I am _now_. More so than ever," Virginia declared. "I wasn't sure before what kind of a car I wanted. Now I know."

"Well?" Obadiah's enthusiasm in the proposed purchase had cooled as hers increased.

She squeezed his arm up against her and announced breathlessly, "I want a truck, Daddy."

"A truck!" Obadiah viewed his daughter as if he deemed the immediate attentions of an alienist essential in her case. "What on earth would you do with a truck?"

"I need it to take those colored orphans out for a ride each week," she explained, full of the plan. "I am going to have benches made to fit on each side of the truck so that it will take them all comfortably. Isn't it a fine idea?"

Obadiah, dumfounded for the moment, regained speech and sought information as one who had not heard aright. "Do you mean to say that you want me to buy a truck to haul those negro children around town?"

"Yah--yah--yah." Upon the front seat, Ike so far forgot the proprieties of his station that he gave vent to noisy merriment at the domestic perplexities of gentlefolk.

"Keep your mind on your business," Obadiah commanded, glaring at his chauffeur's neck.

Virginia, disregarding the _faux pas_ of the chauffeur and its condign reproof, proceeded to explain her plans. "We have decided, Daddy, that those orphans must be taken for a ride every week."

"Who has decided that?"

"Hennie and I have worked it all out."

"What has that woman got to do with it?" he snapped. "Does she expect me to buy trucks to haul all the negro children in town on pleasure trips?"

Violent paroxysms beset Ike and bent him as a sapling in a gale.

Obadiah's eyes glared at the black neck as if, discharging X-rays, they might expose the chauffeur's malady.

Heedless of disturbing influences, Virginia went on, "Hennie thought that this car was too small. She felt that it would be better to get a truck which would carry all the orphans than to use this."

"Indeed!" interjected Obadiah.

"I suggested to her that I would get you to loan us a truck from the mill; but Hennie said that she was sure that you wouldn't let us have it."

"Ahem--ahem," choked the mill owner, getting red in the face.

"I told her that I knew you would be glad to let us have it because you did so love to help people," explained Virginia with great pride.

Obadiah shifted uneasily in his seat. "What did she say?"

"Hennie said that she wished me success."

Obadiah relaxed as one relieved from strain.

Sensing the change in him, Virginia cuddled up to her father full of happiness and contentment as if the purchase of the truck was settled. "Isn't it sweet, Daddy dear," she murmured gently, "within an hour after I talked to Hennie you offer to buy me a car? Of course, you don't care, so long as I am satisfied, whether I choose a runabout or a truck." She took his hand and held it in her own, pressing it.

Obadiah appeared greatly interested in something upon the skyline.

"A truck," Virginia continued thoughtfully, "especially a fine large one such as we would need--" Obadiah flinched--"would be in the way. Our garage wouldn't hold it and Serena would object to it being left in the yard." She arrived at a sudden determination. "Choose, Daddy, whether you will buy me a truck or loan me one from the mill."

Obadiah's response was not delayed. "You had better use a mill truck," he agreed with a sigh which might have been of relief.

"Thank you, Daddy. I can hardly wait to tell Hennie," she exclaimed, highly delighted at the outcome of her efforts.

Obadiah leaned towards his chauffeur. "Ike," he ordered, "you get the new truck down at the mill, the first thing in the morning. Run it out to Mrs. Henderson's house. Make all the row around her place you wish. Tell her," Obadiah continued, "that it is there by my instructions, to take those negro orphans riding." He paused. "Ike," he resumed more forcibly, "don't you forget the noise."

"Yas'r," promised Ike with happy smiles of anticipation.

"That will be a dandy joke on Hennie," giggled Virginia. "Go very early, Ike."

They were following a boulevard which now brought them to the Soldiers' Home. Its fine buildings and large acreage were matters of great pride to South Ridgefield. As they approached the central group of edifices, they heard music.

"Let's stop for the band concert," suggested Virginia.

Obadiah, much relieved physically and mentally from recent disquietude, was unusually complaisant. "Drive in, Ike," he directed.

They turned into a broad, paved road which followed the sides of a square about which were located the principal buildings of the institution. It bounded a tree shaded park with a band-stand in the center. Walks radiating to the sides and corners of the square were lined with benches occupied by veterans in campaign hats and blue uniforms, smoking, chatting, and enjoying the music.

The inner edge of the roadway was lined with automobiles full of visitors. Ike stopped upon the opposite side, in front of the quarters of the Commanding Officer.

Hardly had they paused when a tall, fine looking man of a distinctly military bearing, despite his white hair, hurried out to meet them.

"Mr. Dale," he greeted the manufacturer in a big booming voice, "I am glad to welcome you to the Home."

Obadiah genially returned the salutation of Colonel Ryan. That officer, being a man of rank, in charge of the Soldiers' Home, with power of recommendation in government purchases, was one whose acquaintance it was wise for even wealthy mill owners to cultivate.

When presented to Virginia, the Colonel bowed deeply. "I want you to come up to the house and meet Mrs. Ryan," he urged. "You can hear the music more comfortably there. I am proud of my band. They are old fellows like you and me, Dale, but give them a horn and they have lots of musical 'pep' left."

Mrs. Ryan met them at the head of the porch steps. "You have often heard me speak of Mr. Dale," the Colonel, discreetly noncommittal as to his manner of speaking, reminded her.

"Oh, yes, and I have heard of you, too." She smiled at Virginia and explained to Obadiah, "I happen to have a good friend in that splendid Mrs. Henderson, your neighbor."

The mill owner received this information with little enthusiasm, but, learning that Mrs. Ryan was a victim of rheumatism, he advocated the use of a liniment prepared by his father and applied with remarkable results to both man and beast. Obadiah was hazy upon the mixture's ingredients but was clear upon its curative qualities. Mrs. Ryan evincing marked interest, the manufacturer entertained her with the intimate details of miraculous recoveries.

Neither Virginia nor the Colonel being rheumatic, they failed to give Obadiah's discourse the rapt interest of a true brother in pain. Their attention wavered, wandered and failed, and the band played a crashing air; but the rheumatic heeded not.

All hope of a general conversation having departed, the Colonel praised his band to Virginia. "Every man in that organization is over sixty years old," he bragged. "They get as much pleasure out of playing as their audience does from their concert. It's a great band."

"They _do_ play well," the girl agreed. "I don't wonder that you are proud of them. I love a brass band, myself. You do, too, Colonel Ryan. I can tell by your face, when they play."

The Colonel grinned boyishly. "Yes," he admitted, "I think a band is one of humanity's boons. I can't get close enough to one, when they are playing, to satisfy me. I have to have some sort of an excuse to do that, now-a-days--you'll do fine--let's go nearer."

The medical lecture was disturbed, that the audience might nod understandingly to its husband, as they departed.

The Colonel chatted gaily. In the presence of a pretty woman he was a typical soldier. About them were the benches filled with the white headed veterans, as they entered the square. But a few years and these had been the fighting men of the country--its defence--playing parts modest or heroic on a hundred half forgotten battle fields. Now, they, too, bowed with age, rested in their years, and waited--waited calmly, as true soldiers should, with the taste of good tobacco upon their lips and the blare of martial music in their ears, the coming of the ever nearing shadow.

"Why have I never heard this band down town, Colonel Ryan? It is a shame when they play so beautifully. Do they charge for concerts?" asked Virginia, as an idea developed behind the blue eyes.

"People want young and handsome men to play for them if they pay for it," laughed Colonel Ryan. "So my old codgers don't get many chances of that sort."

"Who has charge of the band?" Virginia's manner meant business.

The Colonel loved a pretty face. He was enjoying himself. "Do you want to object to the leader about his interpretation of a favorite air?"

"Don't tease, Colonel Ryan," she protested. "I want to know who has authority to make engagements for the band. Please be serious."

"You frighten me into submission, Miss Dale. Do you wish to engage the band?"

"I do, Colonel Ryan." The girl's voice was almost imploring.

He looked down into the depths of the pleading eyes. Never in his long life had he refused a pretty woman anything, and it is doubtful if he could have done so. Yet, he desired to prolong the pleasure of the moment. "May I ask, without undue curiosity, for what purpose you desire the organization?"

"I want them to give a concert for the old ladies at the Lucinda Home," she explained.

Colonel Ryan choked. He recovered himself quickly. Military training is of value in difficult moments.

"I was over there this afternoon, Colonel Ryan. The place was so lonesome that I thought it needed some excitement. They asked me to give an entertainment. Your band would be the very thing. It plays so loud that even the deaf ladies could hear."

He who had borne the burden of a regiment of men bowed sympathetically, but his face and neck displayed symptoms of apoplexy.

"The Lucinda Home is a graveyard, Colonel Ryan. When I see all of these old men sitting around and talking and smoking while the band plays lively airs to them, it makes me sorry for those women. I should love to live here. But I should die over there. It is dreadful to be lonesome."

Colonel Ryan agreed with great gravity.

Virginia waxed forceful. "Those old ladies should be made as happy as these soldiers," she argued. "Isn't a woman as good as a man, Colonel Ryan?"

The Commandant by his silence refused this challenge to a discussion upon woman's rights.

"Those old ladies should have everything that these men have," maintained the girl, with great emphasis.

"Including tobacco?" suggested the Colonel solicitously.

"Of course not." Blue eyes snapped indignantly.

The boyish look was back in the Colonel's face. "I only wanted to be sure," he explained soberly. "It has a very important place here."

"Oh, Colonel Ryan, you will joke, and I am so in earnest." Her eyes were dark and tender and a soft pink flushed her cheeks. "A concert at the Lucinda Home would be a wonderful thing if I could get your band."

"You can," the Colonel promised, laconically, "and it won't cost you a cent." He became enthusiastic, "It will be a fine treat for the old ladies and my boys will enjoy it, too. I'll have to warn the old rascals about flirting," he chuckled. "They think that they are regular devils among the ladies. I think that I will have to come along myself to keep the old boys from breaking any ancient hearts."

"Will you come, Colonel Ryan?"

"Surely. You may count on me. Are there to be refreshments?"

"Why--yes!" She had never given a thought to them before, and when she considered the food that it would take it almost frightened her.

"My old boys can eat as well as ever, particularly if it is soft stuff. That band has less teeth than any similar organization in the world. It is the toothless wonder," chuckled the Colonel. "Be sure that you have plenty to eat."

As they ascended the steps of the Colonel's porch, Virginia warned him, "Don't mention the concert to my father. I want to surprise him."

They found that Obadiah had exhausted his praises of the marvelous liniment. Mrs. Ryan was now talking, and, though the subject-matter was the same, the mill owner was not a reciprocal listener. He felt that an immediate departure for home was necessary.

The Dale car rolled away from the Soldiers' Home, leaving the Commanding Officer standing, hat in hand, upon the curb. A broad smile broke over his face. "A band concert at the Lucinda Home," he chuckled. "You might as well give one out in the cemetery." His face softened. "Bless her heart," he whispered, as he turned back towards his house.