agination--nothing else could possibly have accounted for
it--of Marcia Lowe. Shining rows of things never dreamed of in The
Hollow hung on the walls or graced the shelves. The future might prove
them, but the present wreathed them in the charm of mystery. The women
came and looked upon them in silent wonder and talked of them afterward
in hushed voices. A good-sized range, also, stood where once the dirty
hearth was the only shrine to which the family food was intrusted
during preparation. Even Sandy approached this innovation with
ingrained reluctance, but Marcia Lowe was overcoming his timidity and
Cynthia had already conquered its mysteries and was instructing Martin.

The greatest change on the Morley place, however, was the one-time shed
bedroom of Sandy. The first time Sandy entered the crumbling shanty
such a wave of bitterness and depression engulfed him that he realized
he must either reclaim it or it would triumph over him. To tear it
down would not have solved the problem; its absence would have been a
more final acknowledgment of his defeat. The years of fear,
loneliness, and want were ever to be vital realities of his life; the
shed was the setting of his childish agony and spiritual growth--oh,
that was it! He must not stamp the poor shell from sight; he must
redeem it as his patient suffering had redeemed him. He must make it a
place to which those he loved, those who needed him, might come knowing
that welcome and understanding awaited them.

It seemed a miracle to see the dusty, crumbling place evolve into that
bright study with its big, open fireplace, outside chimney, and the
sacred window-seat. Overhead were two small bedrooms, opening into
each other--Martin's and Sandy's. Plain, severe rooms they were; rooms
into which the morning sun shone and into which the setting sun glowed
when nature smiled. On the shingle roof the rain pattered musically,
and no winter cold could conquer the heat which a certain drum stove in
Martin's room managed to create and diffuse. On Martin's stand beside
his narrow bed a lamp stood and near it a Bible. Martin had learned
again to pray and often Sandy read the sacred book to him respecting
always the fiction as to poor eyes and ignoring the illiteracy which
the old man bitterly and secretly deplored.

At last Cynthia entered the study after a minute inspection of the
house. The breakfast dishes were washed and put away; Martin was neat
and orderly.