It was Sunday evening. Angelica had invited her young man to the evening meal.^[1] Everything had passed off harmoniously until Angelica’s seven-year-old brother broke the blissful silence that had settled like a rainbow on the family circle, with:

“O, Ma! You oughter seen Mr. Lighted last night when he called to take Angie to the drill! He looked so nice, sitting ’long side o’ her, with his arm”----

“Fred!” screamed the maiden, quickly placing her hand over the boy’s mouth.^[2]

“You just ought ter seen him,him,” continued the persistent informant, after gaining his breath, and the embarrassed girl’s hand was removed; “he had his arm”--

“Freddie,” shouted the mother; and in her frantic attempts to reach the boy’s ear she upset the tea-pot, sending its scalding contents into Mr. Lighted’s lap.^[3]

“I was just going to say,” the half-frightened boy pleaded, between a cry and an injured whine, “he had his arm”--

“You boy,” thundered the father, “away to the wood-shed.”

And the boy made for the nearest exit, exclaiming as he went, “I was only a goin’ to say that Mr. Lighted had his army clothes on, and I’ll leave it to him if he didn’t.”^[4]