away last year. His hair was dark, like mamma's, and his mustache was brown and curly. I think he isn't as big as you, Uncle Joe, and his clothes are gray, with buttony fixings on them. He has a beautiful sash around his waist, sometimes, and lovely shoulder trimmings. He's an officer, my papa is, in Company F. That's for 'musement, mamma says. For the business, he's a 'lectrickeller. Is this my place? Thank you, Peter."
Mr. Smith handed his little visitor to her chair, which the old butler had pulled back for her, with the same courtly manner he would have shown the pastor's wife. Indeed, if he had been asked he would have admitted that he found the present guest the more interesting of the two.
Peter made ready to serve the soup, but a look from the strange child restrained him. She added a word to the look:
"Why, boy, you forgot. Uncle Joe hasn't said the grace yet."
Now, Mr. Smith was a faithful and devout church member, but was in the habit of omit-
