lay on the shelf in the
corner, with Grandpa's spectacles upon it. Ellen fetched his old red
cushion from the sofa in the corner, and Grandpa sat down slowly and
heavily. He had never been heard to complain in all his hard-worked
life, nor in his years of approaching age, but at the morning worship
he always chose a portion of scripture that accorded with his feelings.
So when he read the 103rd psalm, his sister smiled, evidently he felt
in accord with the radiant May morning. Grandpa was very deaf and
laboured under the idea that every one else was similarly afflicted, so
he read and prayed in a very loud voice. But the Lindsays were all
used to it. This early morning worship set the standard for the day's
work. And led by Grandpa who had travelled far up on the road of
saintship, it fortified young and old for the day's toil and
temptations.

When it was over the family hurried away to their tasks. John and the
preacher-farmer went off to the brown fields, Ellen went to her baking
and washing. Jimmie shouldered his books and set off on his Monday
morning tramp to the High School in Algonquin, from which he would not
return until Friday night. Sandy put off his farm overalls, and drove
up from the barn with the single buggy; and Mary, with a trim dust-coat
over her pretty blue dress, came tripping down the orchard path and
climbed into the buggy at his side. Mary taught school at a little
corner called Greenwood, a couple of miles down the concession, and
Sandy taught just two miles farther on. So every morning the two drove
away to their schools and returned in the evening. Christina ran down
the lane to open the gate for them.

"Now, be good, and don't go and do anything very wild just because it's
your birthday," called Sandy.

"Oh, Christine," cried Mary, "don't let Ellen forget to wash my pink
dress; I got some mud on it yesterday. And if you could iron it like a
dear, I'd be ever so much obliged."

Christina promised willingly, and waved them a gay good-bye. She stood
at the gate watching them as they turned down the broad white road.
That road could be seen for miles from where she stood, winding away
down over hill and through wooded hollow. It disappeared in a belt of
forest but came into view again running along the margin of Lake Simcoe
far off on the horizon, and away beyond her view it ended in a great
city where Christina had never been. But that road always set her
heart beating fast