se, in her favourite chair by the fire, the old lady was
saying much the same thing to Margaret Irving. It was apropos of a book
written by a member of the shrieking sisterhood, which had sorely
stirred East Lancaster, set as it was in quiet ways that were centuries
old.

"I have no patience with such foolishness," Aunt Peace observed.
"Since Adam and Eve were placed in the Garden of Eden, women have been
home-makers and men have been home-builders. All the work in the
world is directly and immediately undertaken for the maintenance and
betterment of the home. A woman who has no love for it is unsexed.
God probably knew how He wanted it--at least we may be pardoned for
supposing that He did. It is absolutely--but I would better stop, my
dear. I fear I shall soon be saying something unladylike."

Margaret laughed--a low, musical laugh with a girlish note in it. For
a long time she had not been so happy as she was to-day.

"To quote a famous historian," she replied, "a book like that 'carries
within itself the germs of its decay.' You need have no fear, Aunt
Peace; the home will stand. This single house, this beautiful old home
of yours, has lasted two centuries, hasn't it, just as it is?"

"Yes," sighed the other, after a pause, "they built well in those days."

The charm of the room was upon them both. Through the open door they
could see the long line of portraits in the hall, and the house seemed
peopled with friendly ghosts, whose memories and loves still lived.
Because she had recently come from a city apartment, Margaret
looked down the spacious vista, ending at a long mirror, with an
ever-increasing sense of delight.

"My dear," said Miss Field, "I have always felt that this house should
have come to you."

"I have never felt so," answered Margaret. "I have never for a moment
begrudged it to you. You know my father died suddenly, and his will,
made long before I was born, had not been changed. So what was more
natural than for my mother to have the house during her lifetime, with
the provision that it should revert to his favourite sister afterward,
if she still lived?"

"I have cheated you by living, Margaret, and your mother was cut off in
her prime. She was a hard woman."

"Yes," sighed Margaret, "she was. But I think she meant to be kind."

"I knew her very little; in fact, the only chance that I ever had to get
acquainted with her was when I came here for a short visit just after
you were married.