pirations and principles, and women only ties and duties and
heartaches. It seemed cruel, though, just now. She choked back the
throbbing pain in her throat that threatened to make itself seen and
heard.

"Of course I must do right, Marg'et Ann."

Her father's voice seemed almost pleading.

Of course he must do right. Marg'et Ann had not dreamed of anything
else. Only it was a little hard just now.

She glanced at him, leaning forward in his chair with the crutches
beside him. He looked feeble about the temples, and his patched
dressing-gown hung loose in wrinkles. She crossed the room and stood
beside him. Of course she would stay with him. She did not ask herself
why. She did not reason that it was because motherhood underlies
wifehood and makes it sweet and sufficing; makes every good woman a
mother to every dependent creature, be it strong or weak. I doubt if she
reasoned at all. She only said,--

"Of course you will do right, father, and I will see about the school; I
think I can get it. You must not worry; we shall get on very well."

Out in the June sunshine Lloyd was coming up the walk with Nancy Helen.
She had been gathering wild strawberries in the meadow across the lane,
and they had met at the gate. Her sunbonnet was pushed back from her
crinkly hair, and her cheeks were stained redder than her finger-tips by
Lloyd's teasing.

Marg'et Ann looked at them and sighed.

* * * * *

After her brother's return from presbytery Miss Nancy McClanahan
borrowed her sister-in-law's horse and rode over to visit the Morrisons.
It was not often that Miss Nancy made a trip of this kind alone, and
Marg'et Ann ran down the walk to meet her, rolling down her sleeves and
smoothing her hair.

Miss Nancy took the girl's soft cheeks in her hands and drew them into
the shadow of her cavernous sunbonnet for a withered kiss.

"I want to see your father, Margie," she whispered, and the gentle
constraint of spiritual things came into Marg'et Ann's voice as she
answered,--

"He's in the best room alone; I moved him in there this morning to be
out of the sweeping. You can go right in."

She lingered a little, hoping her old friend's concern of soul might not
have obscured her interest in the salt-rising bread, which had been
behaving untowardly of late; but Miss Nancy turned her steps in the
direction of the best room, and Marg'et Ann opened the door for her,
saying,--

"It's Miss McClanah