"The girl came to the Rectory to ask prayers for her father," said Frederick, an expression darkening his eyes which his mother dreaded.

"Prayers ... prayers!" roared the minister, "Prayers for a squatter and a murderer!... And drinking coffee from your cups. Such a disgrace can never be lifted from this house."

"What hurt did she do?" irreverently asked Babe. Frederick was thankful for the child's frank question.

"Hurt? Harm, you mean. If she should just hurt a person that could be mended. Harm was what she did!"

"What harm?" persisted Babe.

"Madam, you see your children are all growing up like heathens. There arn't any of the parents whose sons and daughters were here last night, who won't think a long time before they allow them to come again. You understand, don't you, that that squatter covered with germs of all kinds drank from your daughter's cup."

Mrs. Graves started preceptibly. She was noted for a fear of germs.

"Teola, your mouth must be scoured with peroxide ... Oh, if some one would only tell me how it all happened!"

Frederick rose from his chair and impulsively laid his hand on his mother's shoulder. To Teola he looked so tall and strong, so capable of explaining, that she rose, too.

"I will tell you mother," said the student. "The girl was in distress. In some way she had been led to believe that prayers, effective prayers, could bring about any desired result. She simply came to ask us to pray for her father."