own and a plain white
collar and a little close black hat. She looked almost like some sister
of charity.

"Ada," said she, "and Peggy, I am going to tell you something, and it is
my particular desire that you keep it from the whole family. They
would not understand. I am going to ally myself with Mrs. Chataway in a
connection which will lead to the widest possible influence for her and
for me. In Mrs. Chataway's letter to-day she urges me to join her. She
says I have enormous magnetism and--and other qualifications."

"Don't you want me to tell Cyrus?" said mother. She spoke quite faintly.

"You can simply tell Cyrus that I have gone to Mrs. Chataway's," said
Aunt Elizabeth. "You can also tell him I shall be too occupied to
return. Good-bye, Ada. Good-bye, Peggy. Remember, it is the bruised herb
that gives out the sweetest odor."

Before I could stop myself I had laughed, out of happiness, I think. For
I remembered how the spearmint had smelled in the garden when Stillman
Dane and I stepped on it in the dark and how bright the moon was, and I
knew nobody could be unhappy very long.

"I telephoned for a carriage," said Aunt Elizabeth. "There it is." She
and mother were going down the stairs, and suddenly I felt I couldn't
have her go like that.

"Oh, Aunt--Aunt Lily!" I called. "Stop! I want to speak to you." I ran
after her. "I'm going to have a profession, too," I said. "I'm going to
devote my life to it, and I am just as glad as I can be." I put my arms
round her and kissed her on her soft, pink cheeks, and we both cried a
little. Then she went away.

XII. THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY, by Henry Van Dyke

"Eastridge, June 3, 1907.

"To Gerrit Wendell, The Universe Club, New York:

"Do you remember promise? Come now, if possible. Much needed.

"Cyrus Talbert."

This was the telegram that Peter handed me as I came out of the
coat-room at the Universe and stood under the lofty gilded ceiling of
the great hall, trying to find myself at home again in the democratic
simplicity of the United States. For two years I had been travelling
in the effete, luxurious Orient as a peace correspondent for a famous
newspaper; sleeping under canvas in Syria, in mud houses in Persia,
in paper cottages in Japan; riding on camel-hump through Arabia, on
horseback through Afghanistan, in palankeen through China, and faring on
such food as it pleased Providence to send. The necessity of putting
my next book through