the Civic League.

Kate's last look, as the train pulled away, was for the old
juniper-tree, her eyrie, lifting its hoary head, green now with tender
leaves, across the wide valley where she had been for so long a
prisoner.

* * * * *

The time came, when, as the Bishop had prophesied, Philip and Jacqueline
were called away from the mountains into a wider field; to a crowded,
dingy district in a city larger than any of Kentucky, where Jacqueline's
mothering arms have never an excuse to be empty, and where, as her
husband proudly confesses, more people are attracted to his church by
the quality of the music it provides than the quality of the sermons.
But it is something else than music or sermons which attracts to these
two all people who are in trouble, or in need; all derelicts of life.
The hearts of Philip and his wife have not contracted about happiness of
their own. They understand.

Mag's baby is with them, already learning, a docile, womanly little
creature of six years, to pick up the stitches dropped by busy,
careless, eager Jacqueline. It is a household Jacques Benoix loves to
hear about, and Kate to visit.

But she never stays long. Cities bewilder her with their crowded
indifference--men hurrying hither and thither like ants in an ant-hill,
heedless of the wide sky above, heedless of each other, heedless of
everything except each the small burden he carries on his back. Always
she turns home to Jacques and the mountains with a sigh of relief.

Often, for she is not the woman to neglect a duty because it is painful,
Kate goes down to Storm, a home now for crippled children, both white
and black. It seems to her that the old house has grown less grim and
forbidding under the influence of the little people who are happy there
because of Basil Kildare's memory of his crippled daughter;--and also,
perhaps, of another crippled child, his son.

* * * * *

Often, too, she makes one of her flying visits to James and Jemima
Thorpe.

Once, some years since, she was called in haste to nurse Jemima through
what her husband's telegram indicated as a "slight indisposition"; and
upon hurrying to the sickroom was astounded to find Mrs. Thorpe propped
up in bed, ministering very deftly to the needs of an infant son, so
like his father that it was rather a shock to see him without
eye-glasses.

It took Kate several days to recover her breath.

At las