this year, how was one to know what might happen
before the next year? She sat perfectly silent, and when Christina was
silent she was in deep trouble. Sandy strove in vain to cheer her.
"Never mind. Don't let it worry you," he said bravely. "I can study
nights and perhaps I won't lose so much time. And if I can't manage it
next year I can go out West with Allister. Come along, let's get to
church."

She rose slowly, and as slowly went into the house to see if Grandpa
were comfortable. They left him in a cool corner of the winter kitchen
with his Bible and hymn-book and Sport at his feet. The family
gathered on the veranda, and though Christina's mind was so disturbed,
she did not forget to see that her mother had a clean handkerchief, and
that her bonnet was on straight.

Mary was like a fairy in her white muslin dress, and Ellen looked
unusually radiant, in a new blue silk, a present from Allister. But
Ellen had an especial reason for looking radiant these days. For a
long time she and Bruce had nursed the hope that he might study
medicine one day, and Dr. McGarry had promised to hand him over all his
practice the day he graduated. Times had been too hard on the McKenzie
farm for Bruce to leave, but crops had been good for several years now,
and he had almost decided to try the University. And Ellen, who shared
the Lindsay ambition to the full, was sharing his joy and urging him on.

John walked by his mother's side, and Christina fell behind between
Sandy and Jimmie. Usually her mother had to rebuke the hilarity of
these three on Sabbath mornings, but to-day Christina was so quiet that
Jimmie enquired if she were sick.

They passed silently through the little gate between the lilac bushes,
and down the lane to where the tall poplars stood guard at the entrance
to the farm. When their mother accompanied them the Lindsays never
went by the Short Cut, for even Sandy's stile was too difficult a climb
for her.

As they passed out onto the Highway they were joined here and there by
groups of church goers. For everybody in Orchard Glen except two or
three odd characters, went to church, and Sunday was a day of pleasant
social intercourse, such as no other time of the busy week afforded.

It was a real relief, too, from the long strain of six days' toil, and
as yet neither the pleasure-seeker nor the money-getter had interfered
seriously with its grateful peace. It was a day when you took yourself
out