"Get well quick, dear," she whispered tenderly, holding the tiny, hot hand against her cheek after a quaint fashion they had of saying good-night to each other. "I can't have a good time even with Saint Elspeth and Glen if you are at home sick. Take your med'cine like a good girl, and about Wednesday I 'xpect Saint John will be coming after you if grandpa hasn't brought you before."

And Allee had promised to do her best, but Peace could not forget her last glimpse of the wistful, flushed face, pressed against the window-pane to watch her out of sight around the corner. And so sober was she that Jud, who was driving her to the dovecote on the hill, looked around inquiringly more than once, and finally ventured to ask, "Have you caught cold, too?"

"No, indeed!" she flung back at him. "I'm never sick. Why?"

"Your eyes look pretty red."

His ruse was effective, for in trying to see herself in a tiny scrap of a mirror which she carried in her satchel, she forgot her desire to cry, and looked as gay and chipper as usual when the carriage drew up at the parsonage curbing and Mr. Strong bounded boyishly down the walk to meet her, holding his beautiful year-old boy on one arm, and dragging the sweet girl wife by the other.

"Oh, but it's good to see you again!" cried Peace, vaulting over the wheels to the ground before either Jud or the minister could lift her down. "It doesn't seem 'sif you'd really moved to Martindale to live. How did it happen? Grandpa couldn't make me understand about bishops and preachers and congregations, but I'm glad you've come. Did you have a hard time getting out of Parker and was there a farewell reception? Ain't it too bad Faith wasn't there to make you another cake? Mercy! How the baby has grown! Why, I b'lieve he knows me. He wants to come. Oh, he ain't too heavy and I won't break his precious neck, will I, Glen? How do you like my new dress and did you get my hand-satchel 'fore Jud drove off? I forgot all about it the minute I saw the baby. Grandpa was going to bring me, but the faculty had to plan a meeting for this morning, of course, and grandma couldn't come on account of Allee's cold. What a cute little house you've got! It looks wholer than the Parker parsonage. I'm just dying to see all the little cubby-holes and closets. How many rooms are there?"

"It is the same old Peace, Elizabeth," laughed Mr. Strong, rescuing his boy and leading the way to the house. "Prosperity has not changed her a whit. She has hundreds of questions stored up under that curly wig waiting to be asked. I can see them sticking out all over her. My dear, you are here for a week's visit. Don't choke yourself trying to ask everything in one breath, but 'walk into our parlor' and we will show you all we have, and let you rummage to your heart's content."

So they initiated her into the mysteries of the new parsonage with its pretty, cheerful rooms, unexpected cosy corners, tiny kitchen and cunning little cupboard, and for a week she fairly revelled in the playhouse, as she immediately named the spandy new cottage, amusing the baby, who promptly attached himself to her with the devotion of a lap-dog, dusting furniture, washing dishes, and causing her usual commotion trying to help where her presence was only a hindrance. But they enjoyed it! Oh, dear, yes! Her quaint speeches were a constant delight to them, and the sight of her somber brown eyes, so at odds with her merry disposition, and the sound of her gay whistle or rippling little giggle were like the breath of spring to these homesick hearts.

So the days slipped happily by in the dovecote on the hill, in spite of Peace's vague fears for the little sister at home who did not get well enough to join them; and before anyone was aware of it, the whole week was gone and Sunday night had arrived. The evening service was over, Peace had said good-night to the pastor and his wife, and the house was in darkness when suddenly there was the sound of hurried steps on the walk, the door-bell jangled harshly, and the brown eyes in the room across the hall flew open just as the front door closed with a bang, and Mrs. Strong's frightened voice called through the darkness, "What is it, John? A telegram?"

"A messenger boy."