“Will you please to go away? That is all I have to say.”
 M
RS. CANARY was, literally speaking, behind the times. The weekly edition of that romantic sheet, the Household Times, had just arrived, and the mistress of the house had been unable to resist the temptation to "lose herself" in its crackling folds for a few minutes. It was Sunday morning, and the Sabbath to the Canary family meant the dressing of five children for attendance at a house of worship. There was a strong odour of soap and sanctity about the little home, but the mother was reading aloud, totally oblivious to the noise and confusion surrounding her:
 
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"Si-lunce reigned in the great hall as the Duke faced his quack-ing vik-tum. The res-o-lute blood of his dough-ty ancest-ers shone in his deep eyes. 'I little expect-ed this of you, Phil-lup,' he said at last. The cring-ing slave fell abjeck-ly at his feet, without a word. The calm un-im-passioned voice per-ceeded. 'Fate has played you a sorry trick,' it said.
 
"The man gru-vel-ing at his feet made no reply, but the Duke's keen eye caught the gleam of a shining blade. 'Traitor, Mis-cre-ant,' he hissed, 'would you play me false in my own hall?' and he fell upon the fiendish form."
 
From the Duke's hall to the Canary kitchen was only a step. In the latter place the long-suffering Holly Belle was having a discussion with Fridoline as to the merits of church-going for the rising generation. Fridoline was determined of chin, and fiery of disposition, and at the early age of seven had conceived a violent aversion to the ritual of faith, and the-156- proper observance of the Sabbath. The following patient monologue floated through the half-closed door:
 
"Oh, yes you will, Fridoline. Every one goes to Sunday School.... Here's the blacking all ready for you.... No, you can't wash first. What's the use of getting clean and then gauming yourself all up agin?... Black the heels of the shoes. Yes, they do show, too.... No, Friddie dear, please don't put on that clean collar until you wash your neck. Let me help you wash.... Well, I won't, if you don't want me to, but you are never pertic'ler about the edges, you know you ain't.... Stop brushing Mike's hair with that blacking brush!... Friddie, I'll tell Ma!... No, your neck ain't clean, an' your ears are a sight. Let me take that rag a minute. No, I won't get your coat collar wet.... Don't work your face that way, Friddie; it can't be as stiff as that.... Well, don't open your mouth, then you won't taste it.... Stop-157- hitting my elbow.... Fridoline Canary!... I hate to tell on you, but if you don't stop I will.... Ma, make Friddie stop!"
 
Mrs. Canary, putting her forefinger between the pages of the Duke's history, came to the doorway and looked in,—the picture of grieved amazement.
 
"Why, Fridoline," she exclaimed. "Why do you hurt that loving sister of yours? Elbows is tender in ladies. Holly Belle, I wouldn't be too pertic'ler about the edges. He was washed good last Wednesday."
 
"Sh'd say I was," growled Fridoline, looking vengefully at his sister. "They's no need of making me as wet as wash-day agin. Holly Belle's too doggoned clean."
 
"Ye look as shiny as a new mirror," said his mother proudly. "There's nothing like Ivory soap for bringing out all there is in a man. You look every inch a policeman's son. Now your uncle Weatherby, who holds a government position at Washington, D.C.——"
 
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"Do I have to go to Sunday School, ma?" whined Fridoline.
 
"Don't interrupt, Friddie dear," said his mother mildly. "You put me all out of mind of what I was goin' to say. Certainly you do have to go to Sabbath School. I ain't goin' to have it said that I ever let circumstances interfere with religion."
 
"I hate Sunday School," complained Fridoline; "I don't get no good going."
 
"Oh, yes you do, son," encouraged his mother. "You learn lots. Didn't you get promoted from primary to secondary less'n a month ago?"
 
"Yes," growled the boy, "en the only difference is that ye put a nickel in the collection instead of a cent. I'm goin' to be changed back agin."
 
"No, ye ain't," said his mother decidedly. "You get that church down on ye, and ye'll miss the Sunday School picnic. But I'll tell ye what ye can do, Friddie. After the picnic ye can all make a change and go to Mr. Lee's-159- church. The Weatherbys have always been Baptists, but out of compliment to Mr. Lee I'm willin' to let you change. He's been so nice and neighbourly that I think he's deserved it. We won't say nothing about it, and some fine day we'll surprise him by five shinin' faces increasing his aujence."
 
The idea of a picnic and a surprise facilitated the dressing, and a half hour more saw the departure of the five Canarys in all the splendour of cleanliness and handed-down clothes. Mrs. Canary, standing in the doorway, viewed them with pride.
 
"Now mind yerselves," was her parting instruction. "Ye look like a little herd of white doves, and see that ye act so. Holly Belle, don't forget to lend Mikey your handkerchief when necessary. And conduct yerselves right during divine services."
 
"There goes Miss Billy," she added to herself, as her own little brood rounded the corner. "As chipper as a sparrer, an' a-carryin' something to the needy, I should judge by that-160- Haverland chiny dish in her hand. Land o' love! She's turnin' into old man's Schultzsky's!"
 
A pudgy little maiden in a large rocking chair sat swinging back and forth upon Mr. Schultzsky's dilapidated porch as Miss Billy approached. The stolid Bohemian face was neutralised by the effect of two blonde pig-tails, which were braided so tightly as to give her a scared and hunted expression. She looked more frightened than ever as the visitor ascended the rickety steps.
 
"Good-morning!" said Miss Billy.
 
The little girl stopped the motion of the chair and stared at the newcomer.
 
"This is a nice place to sit."
 
The little girl's eyes grew rounder, but she made no reply.
 
"Does Mr. Schultzsky live here?" went on Miss Billy.
 
The child caught the familiar name, and nodded.
 
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"Is he in bed?"
 
"Ja ne rozumim," said the little maid.
 
"Do you suppose he would see me?"
 
"Ja ne rozumim."
 
"Goodness!" said Miss Billy to herself. "This is worse than taking the census. I wonder what language the child is talking. I'm sure it's not German or French or Latin or Greek. I might try her on hog-latin. I never saw a child who couldn't understand that. May—I—see—Mr.—Schultzsky?" she persisted in the loud and emphatic way that one always uses with a foreigner.
 
The little girl stared at her in a frightened way.
 
"Mr. Schultzsky? In?" asked Miss Billy desperately.
 
The child looked about her with a hunted and terrified expression. Then she rose from her rocking chair, and backed hastily down the steps, keeping a safe distance between herself and the caller. "Ja ne rozumim," she gasped, and disappeared around the house. Miss-162- Billy turned to the door. She looked about for a bell, but finding none, rapped upon the unpainted panel. There was no answer. A ............