eart, for
the deep breaths always hurt her, "if I was only prepared to go to
heaven I shouldn't want to stay here a day longer. When they sing about
'eternal rest' it seems such a lovely thing, and to 'lay your burdens
down.' But then there's 'the terrors of the law,' and the 'judgments to
come,' and the great searching of the hearts and reins--do you know just
what the reins are?"

No, Doris didn't. Heaven had always seemed a lovely place to her and God
like a father, only grander and tenderer than any human father could be.

Then they talked about praying, and it came out that Doris said her
mother's prayers still in French and her father's in English.

"Oh," exclaimed Elizabeth, horrified, "I shouldn't dare to pray to God
in French--it would seem like a mockery. And 'Now I lay me down to
sleep' is just a baby prayer, and really isn't pouring out your own soul
to God."

Doris asked Uncle Winthrop about it.

"My child," he said with grave sweetness, "you can never say any better
prayers of your own. The Saviour himself gave us the comprehensive
Lord's Prayer. And are all the nations of the earth who cannot pray in
English offering God vain petitions? You will find as you grow older
that no earnest soul ever worships God in vain, and that religion is a
life-long work. I am learning something new about it every day. And I
think God means us to be happy here on earth. He doesn't save all the
joys for heaven. He has given me one," and he stooped and kissed Doris
on the forehead. "Poor Elizabeth," he added--"make her as happy as you
can!"

When Mrs. King proposed to take Betty to New York for the whole of the
coming winter there was consternation, but no one could find a valid
objection. It was a somewhat expensive journey, and winter was a very
enjoyable season in the city. Then another year something new might
happen to prevent--there was no time like the present.

No one had the courage to object, though they did not know how to spare
her. Aunt Priscilla sighed and brought out some beautiful long-laid-away
articles that Electa declared would make over admirably.

"Where do you suppose Aunt Priscilla picked up all these elegant
things?" asked Electa. "I never remember seeing her wear them, though
she always dressed well, but severely plain. And Uncle Perkins was quite
strict about the pomps and vanities of the world."

And so Aunt Priscilla put away the last of her idols and the life she
had coveted and never h