dence's shoulder and rubbed her fingers over
Miss Prudence's hand.

There were no tears in her eyes, Miss Prudence's quiet, hopeful voice
had kept the tears from coming. Some day she would understand it, but
to-night it was a story that was not very sad, because he had got out of
the prison and God had forgiven him. It would never come as a shock to
her; Miss Prudence had saved her that.

XX.

"HEIRS TOGETHER."

"Oh, for a mind more clear to see,
A hand to work more earnestly,
For every good intent."--_Phebe Cary_.

"Aunt Prue," began Marjorie, "I can't help thinking about beauty."

"I don't see why you should, child, when there are so many beautiful
things for you to think about."

It was the morning after Prue had heard the story of her father; it was
Saturday morning and she was in the kitchen "helping Deborah bake."
Mrs. Kemlo was resting in a steamer chair near the register in the back
parlor, resting and listening; the listening was in itself a rest. It was
a rest not to speak unless she pleased; it was a rest to listen to the
low tones of cultured voices, to catch bits of bright talk about things
that brought her out of herself; it was a rest, above all, to dwell in a
home where God was in the midst; it was a rest to be free from the care
of herself. Was Miss Prudence taking care of her? Was not God taking care
of her through the love of Miss Prudence?

Marjorie was busy about her weekly mending, sitting at one of the front
windows. It was pleasant to sit there and see the sleighs pass and hear
the bells jingle; it was pleasant to look over towards the church and the
parsonage; and pleasantest of all to bring her eyes into Miss Prudence's
face and work basket and the work in her lap for Prue.

"But I mean--faces," acknowledged Marjorie. "I mean faces--too. I don't
see why, of all the beautiful things God has made, faces should be
ignored. The human face, with the love of God in it, is more glorious
than any painting, more glorious than any view of mountain, lake, or
river."

"I don't believe I know what beauty is."

"You know what you think it is."

"Yes; Prue is beautiful to me, and you are, and Linnet, and mother,--you
see how confused I am. The girls think so much of it. One of them hurts
her feet with three and a half shoes when she ought to wear larger. And
another laces so tight! And another thinks so much of being slight and
slender that she will not dress warmly enough in the stree