to shame by the cunning, if not magnitude, of their operations.  Good Christian women, mothers of families, would sell a tidy of no use except to wear to a frayed edge the masculine nerves, and hand-painted plates of such bad art that it verged on immorality, for prices so above all reason, that a broker would have been taken aback.  And it was all for worthy objects, these pretty functions graced by girls and matrons in their best attire, with the products of their little hands offered, or even forced, upon the outsider who was held up for the ticket.  They gambled shamelessly to buy a new carpet for the church.  There was plain and brazen raffling for dreadful lamps and patent rockers and dolls which did not look fit to be owned by nice little girl-mothers, and all for the church organ, the minister’s salary and such like.  Of this description was the church fair held in Brookville to raise money to pay the Reverend Wesley Elliot.  He came early, and haunted the place like a morbid spirit.  He was both angry and shamed that such means must be employed to pay his just dues, but since it had to be he could not absent himself.

There was no parlor in the church, and not long after the infamous exit of Andrew Bolton the town hall had been destroyed by fire.  Therefore all such functions were held in a place which otherwise was a source of sad humiliation to its owner:  Mrs. Amos Whittle, the deacon’s wife’s unfurnished best parlor.  It was a very large room, and poor Mrs. Whittle had always dreamed of a fine tapestry carpet, furniture upholstered with plush, a piano, and lace curtains.

Her dreams had never been realized.  The old tragedy of the little village had cropped dreams, like a species of celestial foliage, close to their roots.  Poor Mrs. Whittle, although she did not realize it, missed her dreams more than she would have missed the furniture of that best parlor, had she ever possessed and lost it.  She had come to think of it as a room in one of the “many mansions,” although she would have been horrified had she known that she did so.  She was one who kept her religion and her daily life chemically differentiated.  She endeavored to maintain her soul on a high level of orthodoxy, while her large, flat feet trod her round of household tasks.  It was only when her best parlor, great empty room, was in demand for some social function like the church fair, that she felt her old dreams return and stimulate her as with some wine of youth.

The room was very prettily decorated with blossoming boughs, and Japanese lanterns, and set about with long tables covered with white, which contained the articles for sale.  In the center of the room was the flower-booth, and that was lovely.  It was a circle of green, with oval openings to frame young girl-faces, and on the circular shelf were heaped flowers in brilliant masses.  At seven o’clock the fair was in full swing, as far as the wares and saleswomen were concerned.  At the flower-booth