ays met; and listened
rather coldly to Graeme's embarrassed thanks, when the same lady
presented her with some pretty lawn handkerchiefs; but she was warm
enough in her thanks to Becky Pettimore--I beg her pardon, Mrs Eli
Stone--for the soft lamb's wool socks, spun and knitted for the minister
by her own hands, and her regrets that her baby's teeth would not permit
her to join the sewing parties, were far more graciously received than
were Mrs Page's profuse offers of assistance.

On the whole, it was manifest that Mrs Snow appreciated the kindness of
the people, though she was not quite impartial in her bestowment of
thanks; and, on the whole, the people were satisfied with the "deacon's
wife," and her appreciation of them and their favours. Nothing could be
more easily seen, than that the deacon's wife had greatly changed her
mind about many things, since the minister's Janet used "to speak her
mind to the Merleville folk," before they were so well known to her.

As for Graeme, her share in the business of preparation was by no means
arduous. She was mostly at home with the bairns, or sharing the visits
of her father to the people whom he wished to see before he went away.
It was some time before Will and Rosie could be persuaded that it was
right for Graeme to leave them, and that it would be altogether
delightful to live all the time at Mr Snow's, and go to school in the
village--to the fine new high-school, which was one of the evidences of
the increasing prosperity of Merleville. But they were entirely
persuaded of it at last, and promised to become so learned, that Graeme
should afterward have nothing to teach them. About the little ones, the
elder sister's heart was quite at rest. It was not the leaving them
alone, for they were to be in the keeping of the kind friend, who had
cared for them all their lives.

Graeme never ceased to remember those happy drives with her father, on
his gentle ministrations to the sick and sorrowful of his flock, in
those days. She never thought of the cottage at the foot of the hill,
but she seemed to see the suffering face of the widow Lovejoy, and her
father's voice repeating,--

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." Long
afterwards, when the laughter of little children rose where the widow's
groans had risen, Graeme could shut her eyes and see again the suffering
face--the dooryard flowers, the gleaming of the sunlight on the pond--
the ver