f Mary; she was baffled.

"And yet," she said, thoughtfully, "you cannot get Mary to talk about
it, and she turned quite fiercely upon poor old Jed when he asked his
simple questions. She's hard as well as gentle."

"And old Jed"--Joan waved her cloth--"here's to him! Think of him crying
because The Ship wouldn't sail off The Rock and insisting that the old
woman on Thunder Peak had something in her arms--that ought to have gone
on The Ship, not in the ground. The place and the people, Aunt Dorrie,
are like a Grimm fairy tale. I'm going to have the time of my life
reading them and playing with them."

Joan was thinking, as she often did now, of touching the lives of
others--all others who pressed close to her. She had never been so keen
or vivid before--the calls upon her were awakening the depths of her
nature. She had travelled far only to come home to find Truth.

"I am afraid I shall never be able to understand these silent,
unresponsive folk, Joan." Doris shook her head--she was realizing her
own shortcomings; her incapacity for new undertakings; "they frighten
me. I have always been able to make an ideal seem real, dear, but I am
afraid I fail utterly when it comes to making the real seem
ideal--particularly when it is not lovely."

"Well, then, duckie, just let me do the interpreting. Father Noble is
going to take me under his big, flapping capes and speak a good word for
me."

Doris smiled. In the growing conviction that Joan had indeed come back
to her she was happy and content. She rarely rebelled now. Her one great
adventure was turning out perfectly; she was thankful she had taken
David Martin's advice and kept her secret. She had been fair; she had
made no personal claims, but she had done what Martin had once suggested
that all mothers should do--"point out the channel and keep the lights
burning." There were moments when she wished that Joan were more
communicative--but she must accept what was offered. Nancy had gone
forth radiant to her chosen life and Joan had come back--not defeated
but clearer of vision. What more could any woman ask of her children?
Her children!

Doris bent and touched Joan's pretty hair.

"I love to think of the look on Ken's face and Nancy's," she said.

"Yes, Aunt Dorrie, it was wonderful. Your opening the window and letting
the west light in did the trick. It was inspiration--nothing less."

Doris nodded, recalling why she had opened the window--Meredith had
seemed