et much o' that at a time. There's all kinds of
clatterin' crash, smash, and jabber on both sides of it, cuttin' in
on both ends of it, and just when yer gettin' tired of rough house,
in she sails again sweeter than ever, just puttin' yer heart
crossways with the sweetness of it. It keeps ringin' in my ears all
the time, that dear little ripplin', tinklin' tune, and perhaps it
needed all that gusty buzzin' and rip-roarin' to drive the sweetness
clean into you. That's the way it is always; Martha; we've got to
listen for the little song whenever we can hear it."

"I am listening to it all the time, Pearl," Martha said softly. "It
may not be meant for me at all, but it is sweet while it lasts, and I
can't help hearing it, can I, Pearl?"

Pearl kissed her friend warmly and whispered words of hope, and then,
fearing that this might be faith without works, heard her spell a
page of words from Bud's old speller.

CHAPTER XXIX

MARTHA'S STRONG ARGUMENTS

"How does love speak?"

THE next week Mr. Donald moved over to the Perkins home. His trunks
had been sent over in the morning, and after school he walked home
with Pearl. Mr. Donald had seen Martha at the services in the
schoolhouse, but had not spoken to her. Pearl now brought him in
triumphantly and introduced him to Mrs. Perkins and Martha.

The cleanliness and comfort of the big square kitchen, with its
windows filled with blooming plants, the singing canary, the
well-blackened range with its cheerful squares of firelight, the
bubbling tea-kettle, all seemed to promise rest and comfort. Martha,
neatly dressed in a dark blue house dress, with dainty white collar
and apron, greeted, him hospitably, and told, him she hoped he would
be comfortable with them. There was no trace of awkwardness in her
manner, only a shy reserve that seemed to go well with her steady
gray eyes and gentle voice. Pearl was distinctly proud of Martha.

When Mr. Donald went up to his room he looked around him in pleased
surprise. It was only a small room, but it was well-aired, and had
that elusive, indescribable air of comfort which some rooms have, and
others, without apparent reason, have not. The stovepipe from the
kitchen range ran through it, giving it ample warmth. His room at
Mrs. Steadman's had been of about the temperature of a well. It was
with a decided feeling of satisfaction that the school-master hung
his overcoat on a hook behind the door and sat down in the cushi