We had the worst time in the recessional. It was ‘How sweet the name,’ and just as we were coming down the steps,—I don’t know what made him do it, but Phil dropped his book right whack down on his own toes. We both got to laughing so we couldn’t sing any coming out. Wasn’t it mean, when we wanted to do our best? And Mr. Washburn was awfully cross about it.”
“I don’t know that I wonder, Rob,” said Bess.
“What did Phil do?” asked Fred. “Did he pick up his hymnal?”
“Course not,” answered Rob, as he secured another hairpin; “he couldn’t stop and stoop down for it. We just had to go ahead and leave the others to hop over it best way they could. Say, cousin Bessie, did you ever notice that old woman in the front seat, the one in the great big black bonnet, with the wreath of purple flowers?”
Bess nodded assent, and then turned her head to watch her little cousin, as he still sat on her chair-arm, steadying himself with a hand on her shoulder, while he talked animat-
