r.

The old buggy rattled along through alternate sunshine and shade.
Elizabeth soon forgot Trip and sat gazing off over hill and valley, not
even hearing what Annie and Jean were telling Mother MacAllister about
their new dresses. She was far above such thoughts. They had dipped
down into the hollow where the stream flowed brown and cool beneath the
bridge and had begun to climb the big hill where the view of the lovely
green earth grew wider at each step. As they went up and up, the
rolling hills seemed gradually to fall away, leaving a great space of
deep blue sky touched with white bunches of dazzling clouds, for there
always seemed more sky in Oro than in any other place. Now the long
thread of the little river lying across the valley they had left,
gleamed out blue and bright, now it disappeared, and before them
another gleam of blue above far-off treetops shone forth, where Lake
Simcoe lay sparkling in the sunlight. There was a little green island
away out on its shining floor, and Elizabeth, with her dreamy eyes
fixed upon it, thought it must look like Heaven. Then it all vanished,
sinking like a beautiful dream-lake behind the treetops as they
descended into the wooded valley. Elizabeth sighed happily. Here the
air smelt cool and sweet, a mingling of damp earth, fragrant blossoms,
running water, and wood-violets. The loveliness of the world of forest
and sky would on ordinary occasions have driven her to wild abandon,
sent her flying over fields and fences as far removed as possible from
the genteel. But to-day was Sunday, and Mother MacAllister's arm was
about her, and her spirit was filled with a great content.

She softly hummed the psalm with which they so often opened the church
service down there in the hollow:

"_O, come let us sing to the Lord,
To Him our voices raise.
With joyful noise let us the rock
Of our salvation praise._"

And from the little basket phaeton behind, Miss Gordon, watching her
charges, wondered what foolish thoughts were passing through Lizzie's
flighty little head. It could not even approach her consciousness that
the child's very soul was raised in rapturous worship.

Down the hill slowly wound the little procession. Elizabeth looked
back. Behind her aunt was Martin's buggy. She could see Susie, one of
her bosom-friends, on the front seat beside her father. But she did
not wave her hand, because it was Sunday and Aunt Margaret was looking.

The