d that I can smoke out of doors."

With the exception of the episode of dinner the day was chiefly passed
by Alida in a health-restoring languor, the natural reaction from the
distress and strong excitements of the past. The rest that had been
enjoined upon her was a blessed privilege, and still more happy was the
truth that she could rest. Reclining on the lounge in the parlor, with
a wood fire on one side and the April sun on the other, both creating
warmth and good cheer, she felt like those who have just escaped from a
wreck and engulfing waves. Her mind was too weary to question either
the past or the future, and sometimes a consciousness of safety is
happiness in itself. In the afternoon, the crackling of the fire and
the calling and singing of the birds without formed a soothing lullaby
and she fell asleep.

At last, in a dream, she heard exquisite music which appeared to grow
so loud, strong, and triumphant that she started up and looked around
bewildered. A moment later, she saw that a robin was singing in a
lilac bush by the window and that near the bird was a nest partially
constructed. She recalled her hopeless grief when she had last seen
the building of one of their little homes; and she fell upon her knees
with a gratitude too deep for words, and far more grateful to Heaven
than words.

Stepping out on the porch, she saw by the shadows that the sun was low
in the west and that Holcroft was coming down the lane with his horses.
He nodded pleasantly as he passed on to the barn. Her eyes followed
him lingeringly till he disappeared, and then they ranged over the wide
valley and the wooded hills in the distance. Not a breath of air was
stirring; the lowing of cattle and other rural sounds softened by
distance came from other farmhouses; the birds were at vespers, and
their songs, to her fancy, were imbued with a softer, sweeter melody
than in the morning. From the adjacent fields came clear, mellow notes
that made her nerves tingle, so ethereal yet penetrating were they.
She was sure she had never heard such bird music before. When Holcroft
came in to supper she asked, "What birds are those that sing in the
field?"

"Meadow larks. Do you like them?"

"I never heard a hymn sung that did me more good."

"Well, I own up, I'd rather hear 'em than much of the singing we used
to have down at the meeting house."

"It seems to me," she remarked, as she sat down at the table, "that
I've never heard