ill far past their
bedtime; and when at last they lay quiet for the night Mother raised up
in the moonlight that was flooding her side of the room and looked
cautiously over to the other side of the bed:

"Father! You awake yet?"

"Yes!" sleepily.

"What'll we do about going to church to-morrow? The telegram might come
while we're gone, and then we'd never know what she answered."

"Oh, they'd call up again until they got us. And, anyhow, we'd call them
up when we got back and ask if any message had come yet?"

"Oh! Would we?" and Mother Marshall lay down with a sigh of relief,
marveling, as she often had, at the superior knowledge in little
technical details that men so often displayed. Of course in the real
vital things of life women had to be on hand to make things move
smoothly, but just a little thing like that, now, that needed a bit of
what seemed almost superfluous information, a man always knew; and you
wondered how he knew, because nobody ever seemed to have taught him! So
at last Mother Marshall slept.

Anxious inquiry of the telephone after church brought forth no telegram.
Dinner was a strained and artificial affair, preceded by a wistful but
submissive blessing on the meal. Then the couple settled down in their
comfortable chairs, one each side of the telephone, and tried to read,
but somehow the hours dragged slowly.

"There's that pair of Grandmother Marshall's andirons up in the attic!"
said Mother Marshall, looking up suddenly over the top of the _Sunday
school Times_.

"I'll bring them down the first thing in the morning!" said Father, with
his finger on a promise in the Psalms. Then there was silence for some
time.

Mother Marshall's eyes suddenly lighted on an article headed, "My Class
of Boys."

"Seth!" she said, with a beautiful light in her eyes. "You don't suppose
maybe she'd be willing to take Stephen's class of boys in Sunday-school
when she gets better? I can't bear to see them begin to stay away, and
Deacon Grigsby admits he don't know how to manage them."

"Why, sure!" said Father, tenderly. "She'll take it, I've no doubt.
She's that kind, I should think. And if she isn't now, Mother, she will
be after she's been with you awhile!"

"Oh, now, Father!" said Mother, turning pink with pleasure. "Come, let's
go up and see how the room looks at sunset!"

So arm in arm they climbed the front stairs and stood looking about on
the glorified rosy background with its wilderness of che