she was young and happy with them. She sympathized
passionately with the old and sorry ones, because the richness of her
own content, and the blessed perfection of her own life, made her heart
tender.

Into her new life she had carried three matchless assets for a
minister's wife,--a supreme confidence in the exaltation of the
ministry, a boundless adoration for her husband, and a natural liking
for people that made people naturally like her. Thus equipped, she
faced the years of aids and missions with profound serenity.

She was sorry they hadn't more time for the honeymoon business, she and
David. Honeymooning was such tremendously good fun. But they were so
almost unbelievably busy all the time. On Monday David was down-town
all day, attending minister's meeting and Presbytery in the morning,
and looking up new books in the afternoon. Carol always joined him for
lunch and they counted that noon-time hour a little oasis in a week of
work. In the evening there were deacons' meetings, or trustees'
meetings, or the men's Bible class. On Tuesday evening they had a
Bible study class. On Wednesday evening was prayer-meeting. Thursday
night, they, with several of their devoted workers, walked a mile and a
half across country to Happy Hollow where they conducted mad little
mission meetings. Friday night Carol met with the young women's club,
and on Saturday night was a mission study class.

Carol used to sigh over the impossibility of having a beau night. She
said that she had often heard that husbands couldn't be sweethearts,
but she had never believed it before. Pinned down to facts, however,
she admitted she preferred the husband.

Mornings Carol was busy with housework, talking to herself without
intermission as she worked. And David spent long hours in his study,
poring over enormous books that Carol insisted made her head ache from
the outside and would probably give her infantile paralysis if she
dared to peep between the covers. Afternoons were the aid societies,
missionary societies, and all the rest of them, and then the endless
calls,--calls on the sick, calls on the healthy, calls on the pillars,
calls on the backsliders, calls on the very sad, calls on the very
happy,--every varying phase of life in a church community merits a call
from the minister and his wife.

The heavy yoke,--the yoke of dead routine,--dogs the footsteps of every
minister, and even more, of every minister's wife. But Ca