IT was Sunday. The morning sermon was ended, and the choir-leader had played the “walkout,” as Chee termed the postlude.
The choir-leader was a very interesting person. He not only led the singing and played the organ at church, but could whistle. And such whistling! Not the every-day wood-pile sort, but the kind that made every boy in town his friend.
He was tall, had a sallow, haggard face and hollow eyes. His spare locks almost touched his shoulders, and appeared to be faded. One knew at a second glance, however, they had never been brighter.
This eccentric-looking gentleman had hardly slipped from off the long bench before the organ, ere the minister had found Aunt Mean and was saying, “Will you kindly do Mrs. Green and myself a favor?”
“You know very well, Elder, any living thing on our farm is at your disposal. If I’ve said it once, I have said it a hundred times!”
“Well, it is something from your farm, to be sure. We want your little niece for a day—say Wednesday, if it is pleasant.”
“Chee?” she exclaimed, with surprise. “For mercy’s sake, what do you want o’ her?”
“You know how fond of children we are—both of us. We want her to enjoy her. Surely, you can spare the child for a single day.”
“It ain’t the sparin’ on her.” But catching sight of Chee’s pleading eyes, she added, “I don’t want no niece o’ mine botherin’ round and makin’ Mrs. Green a heap o’ work.”
“No, indeed, Chee would be a real help. You know, Miss Whittaker, a home without a child is often a lonely place.”