ll be a conservatory. I must have them all the year
through; the short summer gardening would not be ministry enough.
Beyond the Chapel Rock runs back a large new wing, with sewing and
living rooms; they only wait good weather for finishing. A dozen
women can live and work there. As they grow fit and willing, and
numerous enough to colonize off, there are little houses to be built
that they can move into, set up homes, earn their machines, and at
last, in cases where it proves safe and wise, their homes
themselves. I shall provide a depot for their needlework in the
city; and as the village grows it will create a little demand of its
own. Mr. Thayne is going to build the cottages, and he and I have
contracted for the seven miles of railroad to Tillington, as a
private enterprise. The brickmaking is to begin at once; we shall do
something for the building of the new, fire-proof Boston. Your
thought is growing into a fact, Miss Desire; and I think I have not
forgotten any particular of it. Now, I have come back to you for
more,--a great deal more, if I can get it. First, a name. We can't
_call_ it a City of Refuge, beautiful as such a city is--to _be_.
Neither will I call it a Home, or an Asylum. The first thing Mary
Moxall said to me was,--'I won't go to no Refuges nor Sile'ums. I
don't want to be raked up, mud an' all, into a heap that everybody
knows the name of. If the world was big enough for me to begin
again,--in a clean place; but there ain't no clean places!' And then
I asked her to come home with me and my sister."

"You mean, of course, a neighborhood name, for the settlement, as it
grows?"

"Exactly. 'Brickfield Farms' belongs to the outlying husbandry and
homesteads. And 'Clay Pits!' It is _out_ of the pit and the miry
clay that we want to bring them. The suggestion of that is too much
like Mary Moxall's 'heap that everybody knows the name of.'"

"Why not call it 'Hill-hope'? 'The hills, whence cometh our
strength;' 'the mountain of the height of Israel where the Lord will
plant it, and the dry tree shall flourish'?"

"Thank you," said Mr. Kirkbright, heartily. "That is the right word.
It is named."

Desire said nothing. She looked quietly into the fire with a flush
of deep pleasure on her face. Mr. Kirkbright remained silent also
for a few minutes.

He looked at her as she sat there, in this room that was her own;
that was filled with home-feeling and association for her; where a
solemnly tender com