"What do you think he says?
He says he won't come and see me, and he ain't a preacher nor Salvation Army neither.

But he will, won't he ?" "You bet," said the man, peeping up with a grin from behind a barrel.
"If he don't, he'll be about the only one in town who don't." "No," said Keith, pleasantly, but firmly.

"I can't go." "Oh, yes, you will," she laughed.

"I'll expect you.

By-by"; and she walked out of the store with a jaunty air, humming a song about the "iligint, bauld McIntyres." The "blow-out" came off, and was honored with a column in the next issue of the Whistle--a column of reeking eulogy.