Laban had made the crutches himself, a rude, temporary pair at first,
but he was at work on others now that were more carefully made and more
durable; and she knew from this and the remarks of her father when he
tried them that they both understood. It was not worth while to talk
about it of course, and yet the household had a dull ache in it that a
little talking might have relieved.

Marg'et Ann had begged Lloyd not to speak to her father until the latter
was "up and about." It seemed to her unkind to talk of leaving him when
he was helpless, and Lloyd was very patient now, and very tractable,
working busily to get the old place in readiness for his bride.

Mr. Morrison sat at his table, reading, or writing hurriedly, or gazing
absently out into the June sunshine. He was sitting thus one afternoon,
tapping the arms of his chair nervously with his thin fingers, when
Marg'et Ann brought her work and sat in her mother's chair near him. It
was not very dainty work, winding a mass of dyed carpet rags into a
huge, madder-colored ball, but there were delicate points in its
execution which a restless civilization has hurried into oblivion along
with the other lost arts, and Marg'et Ann surveyed her ball critically
now and then, to be sure that it was not developing any slovenly
one-sidedness under her deft hands. The minister's crutches leaned
against the arm of his painted wooden chair with an air of mute but
patient helpfulness. Marg'et Ann had cushioned them with patchwork, but
he had walked about so much that she already noted the worn places
beginning to show under the arms of his faded dressing-gown. He leaned
forward a little and glanced toward her, his hand on them now, and she
put down her work and went to his side. He raised himself by the arms of
his chair, sighing, and took the crutches from her patient hand.

"I am not of much account, child,--not of much account," he said
wearily.

Marg'et Ann colored with pain. She felt as a branch might feel when the
trunk of the tree snaps.

"I'm sure you're getting on very well, father; the doctor says you'll be
able to begin preaching again by fall."

The minister made his way slowly across the room and stood a moment in
the open door; then he retraced his halting steps with their thumping
wooden accompaniment and seated himself slowly and painfully again. One
of the crutches slid along the arm of the chair and fell to the floor.
Marg'et Ann went to pick it up. His