and lashing his horse into a furious gallop as he tore along prim, proper Elm Street.

“Yelling and blaspheming like a fiend,” shuddered Cousin Stickles at the breakfast-table.

“I cannot understand why the judgment of the Lord has not fallen upon that man long ere this,” said Mrs. Frederick petulantly, as if she thought Providence was very dilatory and ought to have a gentle reminder.

“He’ll be picked up dead some morning — he’ll fall under his horse’s hoofs and be trampled to death,” said Cousin Stickles reassuringly.

Valancy had said nothing, of course; but she wondered to herself if Roaring Abel’s periodical sprees were not his futile protest against