"How do you do?" a rich voice rumbled. "Are you the mistress of the house today?"
"You're as homely as Abraham Lincoln," she gasped, scarcely aware that she had spoken aloud. "In fact, you look very much like his pictures,—as much as a gray, bald-headed, whiskerless man could look like a black-bearded one."
"Thanks," he laughed genially. "That is the greatest compliment anyone could pay me. I only wish I were as noble a man."
"We grow to be like our highest ideas," Peace answered primly, recalling a little lecture she had received that morning. "You are Dr. Shumway, ain't you? Pastor of South Avenue Church?"
"Yes, mademoiselle; and you are one of Dr. Campbell's granddaughters?"
"By adoption. My name is Peace Greenfield, and my father and real grandfather were ministers in their time. That's why I am so much interested in preachers. Have you any children?" she asked.
"Five," he answered, amused at the grown-up air she had assumed. "How many are there of you?"
"Six. Four older'n me and just Allee younger. The bishop said he thought all of yours were grown up. Are they?"
"We—ll, none of them are very small now. Pansy is the youngest, and she is nearly fourteen."