it for granted that he would do as the others did. He knocked his glass
against theirs in compliance with a custom strange to him, but which
they seemed to understand very well. The beer itself was not so
agreeable to the taste as he had expected, but it was cold and
refreshing.

When the boy had returned with the glasses, the three stood for a moment
in silence, meditatively watching the curious scene spread below them.
Beyond the bar, Theron could catch now through the trees regularly
recurring glimpses of four or five swings in motion. These were nearest
him, and clearest to the vision as well, at the instant when they
reached their highest forward point. The seats were filled with girls,
some of them quite grown young women, and their curving upward sweep
through the air was disclosing at its climax a remarkable profusion of
white skirts and black stockings. The sight struck him as indecorous in
the extreme, and he turned his eyes away. They met Celia's; and there
was something latent in their brown depths which prompted him, after a
brief dalliance of interchanging glances, to look again at the swings.

"That old maid Curran is really too ridiculous, with those white
stockings of hers," remarked Celia; "some friend ought to tell her to
dye them."

"Or pad them," suggested Father Forbes, with a gay little chuckle. "I
daresay the question of swings and ladies' stockings hardly arises with
you, over at the camp-meeting, Mr. Ware?"

Theron laughed aloud at the conceit. "I should say not!" he replied.

"I'm just dying to see a camp-meeting!" said Celia. "You hear such racy