ned in
cheerfulness and confidence, the terrible and unexpected disaster which
had overtaken her rendered impossible the serenity of those with whom
all has gone well. Dread of something, she knew not what, haunted her
painfully, and memory at times seemed malignantly perverse in recalling
one whom she prayed to forget.

Next to her faith and Holcroft's kindness her work was her best solace,
and she thanked God for the strength to keep busy.

On the first Sunday morning after their marriage the farmer overslept,
and breakfast had been ready some time when he came down. He looked
with a little dismay at the clock over the kitchen mantel and asked,
"Aren't you going to scold a little?"

She shook her head, nor did she look the chiding which often might as
well be spoken.

"How long have I kept breakfast waiting, or you rather?"

"What difference does it make? You needed the rest. The breakfast may
not be so nice," was her smiling answer.

"No matter. You are nice to let a man off in that way." Observing the
book in her lap, he continued, "So you were reading the old family
Bible to learn lessons of patience and forbearance?"

Again she shook her head. She often oddly reminded him of Jane in her
employment of signs instead of speech, but in her case there was a
grace, a suggestiveness, and even a piquancy about them which made them
like a new language. He understood and interpreted her frankly. "I
know, Alida," he said kindly; "you are a good woman. You believe in
the Bible and love to read it."

"I was taught to read and love it," she replied simply. Then her eyes
dropped and she faltered, "I've reproached myself bitterly that I
rushed away so hastily that I forgot the Bible my mother gave me."

"No, no," he said heartily, "don't reproach yourself for that. It was
the Bible in your heart that made you act as you did."

She shot him a swift, grateful glance through her tears, but made no
other response.

Having returned the Bible to the parlor, she put the breakfast on the
table and said quietly, "It looks as if we would have a rainy day."

"Well," said he, laughing, "I'm as bad as the old woman--it seems that
women can run farms alone if men can't. Well, this old dame had a big
farm and employed several men, and she was always wishing it would rain
nights and Sundays. I'm inclined to chuckle over the good this rain
will do my oats, instead of being sorry to think how many sinners it'll
keep fro