r neighbors one after another, with her hand resting on
Peter's curly head, that they hardly knew whether to keep quiet or
say Amen.

"Was that the Bible, Osh?" whispered Bill Harmon.

"Don't know; 'most everything she says sounds like the Bible or
Shakespeare to me."

In the hush that followed Mother Carey's salutation Gilbert approached
with a basket over his arm, and quickly and neatly laid a little fire
behind the brass andirons on the hearth. Then Nancy handed Peter a
loosely bound sheaf, saying: "To light this fire I give you a torch. In
it are herbs of the field for health of the body, a fern leaf for grace,
a sprig of elm for peace, one of oak for strength, with evergreen to
show that we live forever in the deeds we have done. To these we have
added rosemary for remembrance and pansies for thoughts."

Peter crouched on the hearth and lighted the fire in three places, then
handed the torch to Kathleen as he crept again into his mother's lap,
awed into complete silence by the influence of his own mystic rite.
Kathleen waved the torch to and fro as she recited some beautiful lines
written for some such purpose as that which called them
together to-night.

"Burn, fire, burn!
Flicker, flicker, flame!
Whose hand above this blaze is lifted
Shall be with touch of magic gifted,
To warm the hearts of chilly mortals
Who stand without these open portals.
The touch shall draw them to this fire,
Nigher, nigher,
By desire.
Whoso shall stand on this hearth-stone,
Flame-fanned,
Shall never, never stand alone.
Whose home is dark and drear and old,
Whose hearth is cold,
This is his own.
Flicker, flicker, flicker, flame!
Burn, fire, burn!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Florence Converse.]

Next came Olive's turn to help in the ceremonies. Ralph Thurston had
found a line of Latin for them in his beloved Horace: _Tibi splendet
focus_ (For you the hearth-fire shines). Olive had painted the motto on
a long narrow panel of canvas, and, giving it to Mr. Popham, stood by
the fireside while he deftly fitted it into the place prepared for it.
The family had feared that he would tell a good story when he found
himself the centre of attraction, but he was as dumb as Peter, and for
the same reason.

"Olive has another lovely gift for the Yellow House," said Mother Carey,
rising, "and to carry out the next part of the programme we shall have
to go in procession upstairs to my