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 work-table
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, short-stemmed chrysanthemums in cups
and tumblers here and there through the house, was much more flexible
and human than was natural to her; nor that John, alternating between
hope and despair, was forever humming:--

"Set her place at hearth and board
As it used to be;
Higher are the hills of home,
Bluer is the sea!"

It is often so. They who go weeping to look for the dead body of a
sorrow, find a vision of angels where the body has lain.

"I hope Fardie'll be glad to see us and Ellen will have gingerbread,"
Sue chattered; then, pausing at the window, she added, "I'm sorry to
leave the hills, 'cause I 'specially like them, don't you, Mardie?"

"We are leaving the Shaker hills, but we are going to the hills of
home," her mother answered cheerily. "Don't you remember the Farnham
hills, dear?"

"Yes, I remember," and Sue looked thoughtful; "they were farther off and
covered wit