ssed some wrinkles which she had supposed were part and
parcel of Ester's self.

"How I _did_ hate that part of it," she remarked, watching the fingers
that moved deftly around each completed sphere. "Mother said my edges
always looked as if a mouse had marched around them nibbling all the
way. My! how thoroughly I hate housekeeping. I pity the one who takes
me for better or worse--always provided there exists such a poor
victim on the face of the earth."

"I don't think you hate it half so much as you imagine," Ester
answered kindly. "Any way you did nicely. Mother says you were a great
comfort to her."

There was a sudden mist before Sadie's eyes.

"Did mother say that?" she queried. "The blessed woman, what a very
little it takes to make a comfort for her. Ester, I declare to you,
if ever angels get into kitchens and pantries, and the like, mother
is one of them. The way she bore with my endless blunderings was
perfectly angelic. I'm glad, though, that her day of martyrdom is
over, and mine, too, for that matter."

And Sadie, who had returned to the kingdom of spotless dresses and
snowy cuffs, and, above all, to the dear books and the academy, caught
at that moment the sound of the academy bell, and flitted away. Ester
filled the oven with pies, then went to the side doorway to get a
peep at the glowing world. It was the very perfection of a day--autumn
meant to die in wondrous beauty that year. Ester folded her bare arms
and gazed. She felt little thrills of a new kind of restlessness all
about her this morning. She wanted to do something grand, something
splendidly good. It was all very well to make good pies; she had done
that, given them the benefit of her highest skill in that line--now
they were being perfected in the oven, and she waited for something.
If ever a girl longed for an opportunity to show her colors, to honor
her leader, it was our Ester. Oh yes, she meant to do the duty that
lay next her, but she perfectly ached to have that next duty something
grand, something that would show all about her what a new life she had
taken on.

Dr. Van Anden was tramping about in his room, over the side piazza, a
very unusual proceeding with him at that hour of the day; his windows
were open, and he was singing, and the fresh lake wind brought tune
and words right down to Ester's ear:

"I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking for some great thing to do,
Or wondrous t