The Sabbath dawns upon an awed and solemn household. Footfalls are
hushed, the children's chatter is stilled, and all go to the morning
meal in silence. There is a strange quiet, but it is not sadness; it is
a hush, as when in Israel's camp the silver trumpets sounded and the
people stayed in their tents. "Then," Elder Gray explained to Susanna,
"a summons comes to each Believer, for all have been searching the
heart and scanning the life of the months past. Softly the one called
goes to the door of the one appointed by the Divine Spirit, the human
representative who is to receive the gift of the burdened soul. Woman
confesses to woman, man to man; it is the open door that leads to God."

Susanna lifted Eldress Abby's latch and stood in her strong, patient
presence; then all at once she knelt impulsively and looked up into her
serene eyes.

"Do you come as a Believer, Susanna?" tremblingly asked the Eldress.

"No, Eldress Abby. I come as a child of the world who wants to go back
to her duty, and hopes to do it better than she ever did before. She
ought to be able to, because you have chastened her pride, taught her
the lesson of patience, strengthened her will, purified her spirit, and
cleansed her soul from bitterness and wrath. I waited till afternoon
when all the confessions were over. May I speak now?"

Eldress Abby bowed, but she looked weak and stricken and old.

"I had something you would have called a vision last night, but I think
of it as a dream, and I know just what led to it. You told me Polly
Reed's story, and the little quail bird had such a charm for Sue that
I've repeated it to her more than once. In my sleep I seemed to see a
mother quail with a little one beside her. The two were always together,
happily flying or hopping about under the trees; but every now and then
I heard a sad little note, as of a deserted bird somewhere in the wood.
I walked a short distance, and parting the branches, saw on the open
ground another parent bird and a young one by its side darting hither
and thither, as if lost; they seemed to be restlessly searching for
something, and always they uttered the soft, sad note, as if the nest
had disappeared and they had been parted from the little flock. Of
course my brain had changed the very meaning of the Shaker story and
translated it into different terms, but when I woke this morning, I
could think of nothing but my husband and my boy. The two of them seemed
to me to be ne