had just sufficient mathematics in her head to meet
the requirements of the cast-iron system of the Education Department,
which unfortunately required all heads to be exactly alike.

Meanwhile, her nature being too buoyant to allow her to fret, she
managed to put in the days in a way that made even her aunt confess
that the old house was much brighter for her presence. Mary was her
constant companion, glad of any contingency that kept Lizzie near her.
But beyond the home-circle she found little congenial friendship.

She visited Mother MacAllister once a week, of course, and was some
real help to her, as she was to poor Susie Martin. But she had
outgrown her schoolmates, or grown away from them, even had her aunt
approved of her associating with them. The Price girls had spent all
their father's substance in riotous dressing, and were now in domestic
service in Cheemaun. Rosie was living away up north on the McQueen
farm, a new, practical, careful money-making little Rosie. And Martha
Ellen Robertson even was gone. Martha Ellen was married and now lived
on an Alberta ranch and had many gold watches and all the dresses she
could desire. The only familiar sight in Forest Glen for Elizabeth was
Noah Clegg. He was still superintendent of the Sunday school, still
wore the same squeaky Sabbath boots, and though he had never quite
regained his old-time cheerfulness since the day his assistant left, he
still smilingly urged his flock to "sing up an' be 'appy."

Elizabeth often wondered what had become of old Sandy and Eppie. She
had not quite outgrown her childish desire to right poor Eppie's
wrongs, and often, even yet, she told herself that some day she would
intercede with Mrs. Jarvis, and Eppie would be brought back to Forest
Glen.

But in spite of her buoyant nature Elizabeth was not happy. Great new
aspirations were springing up in her heart. She had submitted to a
well-known magazine her little verses, born of that night of moonrise
and sunset, when the boys said good-by. They had not been accepted,
but the reviewer, a lady of some insight, had written the young poetess
a long and encouraging letter. Miss Gordon must read and study nature,
she advised, and she would do something some day. So Elizabeth tried
to obey. Studying nature was like breathing and came very easily, and
reading was always a joy; but she grew restless in spite of it all, not
knowing what was the matter with her.

"I wish I could