he Carmody road.

"Because," explained Gilbert to Anne, as they walked home together
through the Haunted Wood, "the Pyes all live along that road and they
won't give a cent unless one of themselves canvasses them."

The next Saturday Anne and Diana started out. They drove to the end of
the road and canvassed homeward, calling first on the "Andrew girls."

"If Catherine is alone we may get something," said Diana, "but if Eliza
is there we won't."

Eliza was there . . . very much so . . . and looked even grimmer than
usual. Miss Eliza was one of those people who give you the impression
that life is indeed a vale of tears, and that a smile, never to speak of
a laugh, is a waste of nervous energy truly reprehensible. The Andrew
girls had been "girls" for fifty odd years and seemed likely to remain
girls to the end of their earthly pilgrimage. Catherine, it was said,
had not entirely given up hope, but Eliza, who was born a pessimist, had
never had any. They lived in a little brown house built in a sunny
corner scooped out of Mark Andrew's beech woods. Eliza complained that
it was terrible hot in summer, but Catherine was wont to say it was
lovely and warm in winter.

Eliza was sewing patchwork, not because it was needed but simply as
a protest against the frivolous lace Catherine was crocheting. Eliza
listened with a frown and Catherine with a smile, as the girls explained
their errand. To be sure, whenever Catherine caught Eliza's eye she
discarded the smile in guilty confusion; but it crept back the next
moment.

"If I had money to waste," said Eliza grimly, "I'd burn it up and have
the fun of seeing a blaze maybe; but I wouldn't give it to that hall,
not a cent. It's no benefit to the settlement . . . just a place for young
folks to meet and carry on when they's better be home in their beds."

"Oh, Eliza, young folks must have some amusement," protested Catherine.

"I don't see the necessity. We didn't gad about to halls and places when
we were young, Catherine Andrews. This world is getting worse every day."

"I think it's getting better," said Catherine firmly.

"YOU think!" Miss Eliza's voice expressed the utmost contempt. "It
doesn't signify what you THINK, Catherine Andrews. Facts is facts."

"Well, I always like to look on the bright side, Eliza."

"There isn't any bright side."

"Oh, indeed there is," cried Anne, who couldn't endure such heresy in
silence. "Why, there are ever so many bright sides, M