to my friend."

He turned swiftly and extended his hand to the strange woman behind
him. With the cunning upon which he had counted she gave her own
hand, slipping in his the folded paper. Her eyes, with their
haunting watchfulness, held his for a moment as she mutely bent
forward when he left her.

The hymn was done and the women were seating themselves, as St.
George with beating heart took his way up the aisle. What the paper
contained he could not even conjecture; but there _was_ a paper and
it _did_ contain something which he had a pleasant premonition would
be invaluable to him. Yet he was still utterly at loss to account
for his own presence there, and this he coolly meant to do.

He was spared the necessity. On the platform Mrs. Manners had risen
to make an announcement; and St. George fancied that she must
preside at her tea-urn and try on her bonnets with just that same
formal little "announcement" air.

"My friends," she said, "I have now an unexpected pleasure for you
and for us all. We have with us to-day Mr. St. George, of New York.
Mr. St. George is going to sing for us."

St. George stood still for a moment, looking into the expectant
faces of Mrs. Manners and the other women of the Readers' Guild, a
spark of understanding kindling the mirth in his eyes. This then
accounted both for his admittance to the home and for his welcome by
the women upon their errand of mercy. He had simply been very
naturally mistaken for a stranger from New York who had not arrived.