But Josepha had fled at the first sight of the chimney climber; and, though they searched, they did not find her.

Lengthy unlocked the door and entered, with Kid Barringer, Lon Prendergast, Lefty Phillips and Little Crawford.

Huldah said afterward that it was a regular love-feast. The boys had an X Q K mess wagon with them, from which a good meal was promptly evolved, and eaten amid the greatest hilarity, Kid Barringer and Lengthy reciting, turn and turn about, the tale of the distressful sweep, Lon Prendergast shaking his head at Huldah and repeating again and again that she "had made orphants so numerous in this here west Texas cattle country that you couldn't ride up to a neighbor's ranch 'thout one poppin' its head out'n a chimbly and hollerin' to ye to come and rescue it."

When the happy meal was over, two of the boys went out and harnessed up Flyer and old Paint, and these hardened sinners went home "as meek as Moses," Huldah said, though at a good clipping pace, the boys riding in a jolly cavalcade before and behind and along the sides of this ambulatory orphan-asylum.

CHAPTER XII

A RAINY SUNDAY

"For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”

The rain was coming down in sheets-always a welcome sight in west Texas-but it was Sunday morning, nearly time for Sunday-school.

"There's no manner of use going over there. A body would ruin every rag they had on, and they won't be a soul there," Mrs. Patterson declared.

"Oh, law, yes; there'll be somebody there if we all go," Huldah laughed. "Look's like it's a pore compliment to our Sunday-school jest to go when the day is fine, an' you'd be a-wishin' fer some place to go anyhow. Looks to me like we ought to get a extry joy out of goin' on a day like this, when it takes some effort to get thar'."

Mrs. Patterson had an umbrella. Aunt Huldah herself proclaimed that she did not care about umbrellas a shawl over her head was as good as she'd ask. The stiffly-starched lawn frocks, which would have been put on the little girls,

were laid by, and a couple of dark calicoes substituted. The skirts of these were raised over their heads at the back, and pinned beneath their chins.

Every child was barefoot and squealing with delight at the thought of splashing through the puddles. As for Daisy's umbrella,-dark blue silk with a silver handle,-Aunt Huldah protested vainly, while it was being resolutely carried over her head by its young owner, that it was a sin and a shame to wet such a beautiful parasol.

Troy Gilbert, lounging in the doorway of the Roundup, saw the little procession setting devotedly forth, and joined it. There is a powerful attraction in the appearance of people who are braving something-making some effort-which brings others to walk beside them. It would be the first time Troy had ever attended Sundayschool, and Huldah was proportionately delighted.

They started out in a lull; but when they had traversed half the distance, the rain began to come down with such a will that it seemed as though there were a special design to test their resolution.

"I offered to study up the lesson with the children—we've all got lesson leaves," the lady from Georgia announced. "I don't see why that

wouldn't be just as good as traipsin' over here through the mud and rain, and ruinin' every stitch you've got on your back."

"I jest love to go through the rain, sometimes," Huldah observed, with undiminished goodhumor. "I think it's more fun than a little."

"So do we!" cried Gess and Tell and Ally, running ahead and seeking every bit of water to wade in.

Romey clung timidly to Aunt Huldah's hand. "It makes my foots cold," he whimpered.

"Aunt Huldy will rub his foots fer him, on this here flour-sack, when we git to the Sunday school," his protectress assured him.

A horseman came splashing down the street through the rain. Huldah thought she recognized Lone Deatherage, and glanced quickly at Mrs. Patterson.

That lady had her umbrella held low against the rain, and was not looking. Yet the man on horseback had turned up the collar of his slicker so that, had it not been for the pony he was riding, Huldah would not have been sure of his identity. He bowed to the Wagon-Tire company without raising his hat.

"Well!" ejaculated Huldah. "That was Lone Deatherage. I bet he's goin' to the Wagon-Tire House. I've half a mind to go back." She paused

and turned amid an outburst of objections from her little party.

So far, Mrs. Patterson had never looked on Lone Deatherage's face; yet she had joined the majority that condemned Huldah for holding to the poor fellow.

"Come on, Mrs. Sarvice-you'll be soaked if you stand here in the rain," she fretted. "That man's gone a-past the hotel, anyhow."

"W'y, so he has," Huldah agreed wonderingly. "I wish❜t I'd stopped him. I've got a feelin' that he wants somethin'." Troy looked impatient. He was in a well-nigh angelic mood for the most part, these days; but Lone Deatherage-and Aunt Huldah's attitude toward the man-constituted a sore subject with him.

"Are you coming on?" he asked finally.

"Yes," answered Huldah. "Well-well!” and she went forward to Sunday-school.

But even after the building was reached, and she was rubbing the little wet legs and feet with her thoughtfully provided flour-sack, she muttered doubtfully to herself: "I wish't I'd 'a' gone back a piece an' talked to him. I feel sort of oneasy about Lone."

Matters were unexpectedly cheerful at the little Sunday-school; the small Portermans, seeing Aunt Huldah's party pass, had demanded to be