to violate conventional canons that govern 'table talk,' by obtruding ethics which certainly do not contribute curry, horse-radish and Tabasco to the conversational menu, I claim in extenuation of prandial heresy, the obvious fact that such charming people as surround me to-day are not always in their pews, to receive and assimilate the homiletic dose distributed once a week at the ecclesiastical dispensary. Please do not vote me a bore if——"

"Just one moment of parenthesis, Bishop," interrupted Mr. Churchill. "Possess your soul in patience. This wild craze of greedy, omnivorous, grudging 'Have Nots' is no new phase of that variety of original sin that claims something for nothing. Don't forget how long it has been since Thurlow's snarl: 'Corporations have neither a soul to lose, nor a body to kick.' Demagogues are persuading the disgruntled of all classes that they are now kicking the vile, corrupt body of corporations, but an inevitable reaction will be forced when it becomes evident that the kicks are aimed at the cornerstone of civic equity—the universal and inalienable right of every human being to the fruit of his labor, mental or manual—whether that fruit be dividends of the capitalists, or daily wages of miners, blacksmiths and ploughmen. This popular creed of wholesale confiscation which teaches 'Love thy neighbor's goods more than thy soul,' has reached its ultimatum in arranging even pre-natal conditions whereby all children shall be born equal—not mentally, not morally; oh, no! simply financially, in consequence of abolishing the right of unlimited inheritance. Don't worry. The wave is nearing its crest, and when it ebbs it will suck out as wreckage the political charlatans that hope to float into office."

Captain Winstead's handsome black eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Party politics are as unsuitable on this occasion as would be a shooting jacket worn at a Court function; but, Mrs. Churchill, I am sure you will forgive me if I dare ask one question: Is not your husband a Democrat?"

"Captain, your state of serene single blessedness is evidently the result of fright engendered by cartoon fables depicting the abject subjugation of husbands, by emancipated wives. Dismiss that termagant scarecrow, for behold! my undaunted, conjugal Czar speaks for himself."

"Am I a Democrat? You very well know I have always been one, and I am still clinging with grim, dogged fealty to the few precious fragments of genuinely orthodox democracy, that survive the blows of disloyal demagogic platform carpenters who raided recent national conventions. Americans of all parties need to remember that their first duty as citizens is allegiance to individual convictions of the morality of public policies, instead of the existing mischievous custom of servile submission to the ukase of committee and convention dictators. The time-honored party name, Democracy, is disgraced by the effort to make it mother a mongrel brood of socialists, whose wild antics and schemes of universal confiscation would cause Thomas Jefferson to gasp. If he could only leave his grave long enough to make one speech, he would stamp out the clubs profaning his revered name, and scourge the 'populistic' leaders—now strutting under the standard of his stolen mantle—as Christ emptied the polluted temple. The spectacle of the so-called 'Democracy' of to-day would so sicken his wise, honest, sturdy soul that, I verily believe, a spiritual somersault would land him close to Metternich's axiom: 'All for, not through, the people.' The constitutional basic, and virile principles of my dear old Party will weather this dusty whirlwind of popular delusion, stirred up by ravening socialist wolves, cloaked in Jeffersonian fleeces; and primitive, genuine, untainted democracy must come to its own once more."

"Yours is a rosy view, Mr. Churchill, but who will undo the mischief accomplished by American demagogues who are spurring the people into the pitch and sulphur pit of rank, Godless communism? What remedy will avail? Not schools, not colleges, not universities where athletics, 'higher criticism' and 'phonetic spelling' absorb attention to the exclusion of Christian ethics—now thrown aside as obsolete as the Ptolemaic system of astronomy. The decadent tendency of our people to habitually seek excitement and diversion at public places of amusement, has reduced the once attractive home to a mere economic residential combination of refectory, dormitory and station for laundry delivery. Interest in the outside world usurps domestic attachments, loosens family ties and that interdependence of the members of the hearthstone circle, that once made genuine, old-fashioned home life so potent a factor in developing well-balanced, wholesome character, both individual and national. It seems to me the dear old 'Home, Sweet Home' of other days is now sadly transformed into the nest of ennui and hysterical unrest, whence all must flee who determine to 'have a good time'——"

The Bishop's homily was cut short by a sharp cry in the hall, the patter of running steps,—and into the dining-room darted a red-haired child of six years, followed by a panting nurse, flushed and trembling, who held in one hand a discarded small slipper and silk sock.

Tiptoeing on his bare foot, the boy glanced swiftly around the circle, and sped to the chair where Miss Lindsay sat. With a gurgling laugh he threw himself against her, and pushing her chair slightly away from the table, she put one arm around and drew him close to her.

"Rex, go back with Bertha," said his mother, beckoning to the discomfited nurse who approached the table. Two little arms clung desperately, and the large blue eyes brimmed with tears, while a sweet, childish voice pleaded quaveringly:

"Oh, mamma, Miss 'Vota runs away before breakfast, and I must stay with her! I'm so afraid of that awful sea—and Jonah's whale and the Devil's fish—and slimy, pollywog, wriggling things that may catch her—and please, mamma darling, you know she's just my very onliest sweetheart!"

Devota leaned forward, and with the assistance of Captain Winstead lifted the boy to her lap.

"Mrs. Churchill, please let me keep him. He comes in with the other sweets, and I beg for him as my one special bonbon. Be gracious to me, will you not? I stand sponsor for his being 'seen and not heard.'"

Mrs. Churchill flushed, but instantly the Bishop raised his hand.

"Governor, veto that maternal sentence of banishment."

Governor Armitage smiled.

"This is the first time I have ever regretted the limitations of my veto prerogative, but in recognition of Rex's indubitable taste in selection of his 'onliest sweetheart,' I ask the privilege of signing Miss Lindsay's petition for retention of her loyal lover."

A tender light shone in his eloquent grey eyes, but they were fixed on the pretty boy's ruddy locks, rather than the golden head bending against his long curls.

Mrs. Churchill motioned to the nurse to withdraw, and her lips twitched as she replied:

"Can your Excellency, and your Reverence, magnanimously ignore the vivid object lesson, so