that your lot is a peculiarly fortunate one?"

"If I did not think so, I would be worse than those Jews who fell to
murmuring on their way to Canaan. If they could have made the journey as
comfortably as I am doing they would never have said a word, I believe."

"That is quite an original way of putting it. Theologians generally are
very severe on the poor Jews."

"And you are usually pretty severe on the poor theologians," I said
laughingly, as I started for my room. On the way I met Reynolds, who
seemed so glad to have us back that I kissed her on the spot.

"Bless your dear heart," she exclaimed, "it's like a flash of sunlight to
have you bursting in on us. You remind me so much of your papa. He had
just such a strong, hearty way as you."

"Oh, Reynolds, is that so? Why did you never tell me before that I was
like him?"

"It did not occur to me to tell you. Does it please you to know it?"

"Certainly it does. It takes away the feeling that I am a changeling,
which often haunts me when you tell me I am odd and unconventional,"
I said, turning to Mrs. Flaxman.

"Darling, I would rather have you just as you are. If we went to make
improvements, we would only spoil a bit of God's sweetest handiwork."

"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, what a tremendous compliment! Mr. Winthrop would read
you another lecture, if he heard you say that."

"Some day we may need to lecture him," she said with a smile, and then
went into her own room, leaving me a trifle perplexed over her meaning.

When we joined Mr. Winthrop in the dining room we found the table laid
with its usual precision and elegance for dinner. As I stood on the
hearth-rug, looking around the pleasant room, the firelight glancing on
the polished silver, and china, and lighting up the beautiful pictures on
the walls, no wonder the cheerful home scene made me, for the time,
forget the solitary mourner with his dead, out in the cold and darkness.
Mrs. Flaxman presently joined me. Drawing her an easy-chair close to the
cheerful blaze I knelt on the rug beside her, the easier to stroke Fleta,
the pretty Angora cat, who with her rough tongue licked my hand with
affectionate welcome. Presently Mr. Winthrop joined us. His presence at
first unnoticed in our busy chat, I happened to turn my head and saw him
calmly regarding us. "You would make a pleasant picture, kneeling there
with the firelight playing in your hair," he said, coming to my side.

"The picture would be more perfect