inted place on the platform, as one of the speakers, and offered a
closing prayer for the confounding of the enemy after the manner of
David of old--then he descended and took his son's hand, as he stood
in the ranks, with his arm across the boy's shoulder, looked a moment
in his eyes; then, without a word, he turned and reentered the bank.

CHAPTER V

THE PASSING OF TIME

It was winter. The snow was blowing past the windows in blinding
drifts, and the road in front of the Ballards' home was fast filling
to the tops of the fences. A bright wood-fire was burning in the great
cookstove, which had been brought into the living room for warmth and
to economize steps, as all the work of the household devolved on Mary
and little Betty, since Martha spent the week days at the Deans in the
village in order to attend the high school.

Mary gazed anxiously now and then through the fast-frosting window
panes on the opaque whiteness of the storm without, where the trees
tossed their bare branches weirdly, like threatening gray phantoms,
grotesque and dimly seen through the driving snow. It was Friday
afternoon and still early, and brave, busy little Martha always came
home on Fridays after school to help her mother on Saturdays.

"Oh, I hope Martha hasn't started," said Mary. "Look out, Bertrand.
This is the wildest storm we have had this year."

"Mrs. Dean would never allow her to set out in this storm, I'm sure,"
said Bertrand. "I cautioned her yesterday when I was there never to
start when the weather seemed like a blizzard."

Bertrand had painted in his studio above as long as the light
remained, and now he was washing his brushes, carefully swishing the
water out of them and drawing each one between his lips to shape it
properly before laying it down. Mary laid the babe in her arms in its
crib, and rocked it a moment while she and Bertrand chatted.

A long winter and summer had passed since the troops marched away from
Leauvite, and now another winter was passing. For a year and a bit
more, little Janey, the babe now being hushed to sleep, had been a
member of the family circle. Thus it was that Mary Ballard seldom went
to the village, and Betty learned her lessons at home as best she
could, and tended the baby and helped her mother. But Bertrand and his
wife had plenty to talk about; for he went out and saw their friends
in the village, led the choir on Sundays, taught the Bible class,
heard all the news, and