hings, to regain and wear "the white flower of
a blameless life." The very air of the place breathed peace, so thought
Susanna Hathaway; and little Sue, who skipped by her side, thought
nothing at all save that she was with mother in the country; that it had
been rather a sad journey, with mother so quiet and pale, and that she
would be very glad to see supper, should it rise like a fairy banquet in
the midst of these strange surroundings.

It was only a mile and a half from the railway station to the Shaker
Settlement, and Susanna knew the road well, for she had driven over it
more than once as child and girl. A boy would bring the little trunk
that contained their simple necessities later on in the evening, so
she and Sue would knock at the door of the house where visitors were
admitted, and be undisturbed by any gossiping company while they were
pleading their case.

"Are we most there, Mardie?" asked Sue for the twentieth time. "Look at
me! I'm being a butterfly, or perhaps a white pigeon. No, I'd rather be
a butterfly, and then I can skim along faster and move my wings!"

The airy little figure, all lightness and brightness, danced along the
road, the white cotton dress rising and falling, the white-stockinged
legs much in evidence, the arms outstretched as if in flight, straw hat
falling off yellow hair, and a little wisp of swansdown scarf floating
out behind like the drapery of a baby Mercury.

"We are almost there," her mother answered. "You can see the buildings
now, if you will stop being a butterfly. Don't you like them?"

"Yes, I 'specially like them all so white. Is it a town, Mardie?"

"It is a village, but not quite like other villages. I have told you
often about the Shaker Settlement, where your grandmother brought me
once when I was just your age. There was a thunder-storm; they kept
us all night, and were so kind that I never forgot them. Then your
grandmother and I stopped off once when we were going to Boston. I was
ten then, and I remember more about it. The same sweet Eldress was there
both times."

"What is an El-der-ess, Mardie?"

"A kind of everybody's mother, she seemed to be," Susanna responded,
with a catch in her breath.

"I'd 'specially like her; will she be there now, Mardie?"

"I'm hoping so, but it is eighteen years ago. I was ten and she was
about forty, I should think."

"Then o' course she'll be dead," said Sue, cheerfully, "or either she'll
have no teeth or hair."

"