lks are, an' women are pow'ful strong."

"Have your own way, Ansel! I'm going back to the world, but no man shall
ever say I hindered him from being good. You'll see women clearer in
another world."

"There'll be precious few of 'em to see!" retorted Ansel. "You're about
the best o' the lot, but even you have a kind of a managin' way with
ye, besides fillin' us all full o' false hopes that we'd gathered in a
useful Believer, one cal'lated to spread the doctrines o' Mother Ann!"

"I know, I know, Ansel, and oh, how sorry I am! You would never believe
how I long to stay and help you, never believe how much you have helped
me! Goodbye, Ansel; you've made me smile when my heart was breaking. I
shan't forget you!"

XII. The Hills of Home

Susanna had found Sue in the upper chamber at the Office Building, and
began to make the simple preparations for her homeward journey. It was
the very hour when John Hathaway was saying:--

"Set her place at hearth and board
As it used to be."

Sue interfered with the packing somewhat by darting to and fro, bringing
her mother sacred souvenirs given her by the Shaker sisters and
the children--needle-books, pin-balls, thimble-cases, packets of
flower-seeds, polished pebbles, bottles of flavoring extract.

"This is for Fardie," she would say, "and this for Jack and this for
Ellen and this for Aunt Louisa--the needle-book, 'cause she's so useful.
Oh, I'm glad we're going home, Mardie, though I do love it here, and I
was most ready to be a truly Shaker. It's kind of pityish to have your
hair shingled and your stocking half-knitted and know how to say 'yee'
and then have it all wasted."

Susanna dropped a tear on the dress she was folding. The child was going
home, as she had come away from it, gay, irresponsible, and merry; it
was only the mothers who hoped and feared and dreaded. The very universe
was working toward Susanna's desire at that moment, but she was all
unaware of the happiness that lay so near. She could not see the
freshness of the house in Farnham, the new bits of furniture here and
there; the autumn leaves in her own bedroom; her worktable full of
the records of John's sorrowful summer; Jack handsomer and taller, and
softer, also, in his welcoming mood; Ellen rosy and excited. She did not
know that Joel Atterbury had said to John that day, "I take it all back,
old man, and I hope you'll stay on in the firm!" nor that Aunt Louisa,
who was putting stiff, sh