ing source of
comfort and pleasure to him as well as to his neighbours and friends.
There was one record that Arthur put on only when he was alone, for
it was Thursa's own voice singing to him from across the sea--the
song of all others he loved to hear, for every note, every word of
it, throbbed with tenderness and love:

"The hours I spent with thee, dear heart,
Are as a string of pearls to me;
I count them over, every one apart,
My rosary, my rosary."

Often when his day's work was over and he sat in his little house, as
the velvet-footed dusk came creeping down the Plover Creek, Thursa's
bird-like voice, so clear and precious and full of dearest memories,
would fill the little room with heavenly sweetness and carry him back
again to the dear days at home, when they wandered hand in hand
beside the English hedges "white with laughing may."

There was only one person in the community with whom Arthur felt
really at home and to whom he could speak freely, and that was Martha
Perkins, for although Martha did not talk much she was a pleasant
listener, and Arthur always came away rested and cheered. "She is a
jolly good sort, Martha is," he often told himself, "a real
comfortable sort of person." In return for Martha's kindness to him
Arthur brought her books and magazines when he found that Martha now
spent most of her time reading instead of working at the never-ending
needlework.

All through the harvest Arthur had had working for him a stolid-faced
son of toil, whose morose face began to "get on his nerves," and it
was partly to get away from this depressing influence that Arthur
went much oftener to see Martha than he had up to this time. His man
was "no company and spoiled his solitude," he said. When the harvest
was over and his farm hand had gone it seemed quite natural for him
to keep up his visits regularly, and since Bud had gone the family
were very glad of his cheery presence.

One Friday night Arthur did not come for his bread as was his custom,
and when Martha took it over herself the next morning she found him
suffering from a bad attack of la grippe. Then followed for Martha
five sweet days of never-to-be-forgotten happiness, when Arthur,
fevered and restless, would exclaim with joy when she came in. Martha
was a born nurse, quiet, steady, and cheerful, and no matter how
Arthur's head was aching when she came in, he always felt better just
to have her near, and the touch of her hand, w