"Oh, and say, what about the flowers for the Home children? I guess likely we can't have them after all, 'cause we're to be dressed up in flowers to represent our parts."
"Flowers? Oh, I will attend to that. Our French maid is perfection when it comes to getting up costumes of any kind."
"It ain't costumes. It's just our flowers, but there are daisies and poppies and vi'lets and maybe others that ain't in blossom yet or else are all done for; so's we would either have to buy them at the greenhouses or get artificial ones."
"That is easily done, dear. Elise can do wonders with crêpe paper and the glue-pot. Don't you worry about the Home children if Miss Chase will let us borrow them."
So Peace skipped joyously home to pour out the good news to the preacher's troubled little wife, who was worrying alternately over the hoarse, sick little man lying in her arms and the program for Children's Sunday, which now looked as if it must prove a failure in spite of all the time and hard work she had given it. So when the child explained the Lilac Lady's plans, Elizabeth gladly resigned the cantata music, expressed her sincere thanks by kissing Peace warmly—for she knew, of course, that whatever beautiful plans the young crippled neighbor might have, they were prompted by the active brain under the bobbing brown curls—and returned with a lighter heart to her vigil over Glen.
Miss Chase was glad to lend the children to Hill Street Church, and they were overjoyed at the idea of being loaned. As they proved to be apt pupils, they were already quite familiar with the beautiful songs by the time the original chorus members put in appearance at the parsonage for the afternoon's rehearsal. At first, the regular scholars were inclined to criticize the new plans which dragged in the little Home waifs; but Aunt Pen, who had readily agreed to help, was very tactful, the lame girl very lovable, and in a few minutes all the objections had been swept aside and harmony reigned supreme. Then they settled down to hard work, and how they did practise! Aunt Pen played the piano, Giuseppe took up the refrain on his violin, and the great stone house fairly rang with the chorus of the hundred or more voices. Indifference melted into interest, and interest into enthusiasm. Before the afternoon had drawn to a close, every heart present was fairly aching for the coming of Children's Sunday with its beautiful service of song, and the Lilac Lady was triumphant.
"But who will take Miss Kinney's part?" frowned Marjorie Hopper, the deacon's granddaughter. "She told papa last night that she simply washed her hands of the whole affair."
"Never you fret," said Peace, nodding her head sagely. "Let her wash! We've got someone to take it who can sing lots prettier than she ever thought of doing."
"Not Mildred—"
"No, Mildred's got her own part, but—"