ster, the minister had
said, should show loving touches throughout the home, just as Jesus
left his loving touch through the world.

With great care Martha draped the table with the white linen, and
replaced the lily. How beautiful it looked now in its new
surroundings!--too beautiful for the hacked white dishes Jerusha used.
So a chair was placed in front of the green cupboard, and with
precision in every movement the "sprigged" dishes were gotten down.

"Oh, if only it could be that way all the time!" Martha Matilda
sighed, standing beside her carefully-arranged table with shining
eyes. But the potatoes were brown and puffy, and the hand of the clock
reached to just half-past one. She gave a glance around the room,
grabbed her hat, and was off; it was time for her to meet her father
at the bridge, as she always met him Sundays, when dinner was ready.
No matter how much John Graham might enjoy lolling in the sun by the
smelter door with "the boys," he never forgot the time when the brown
hat was to be met down by the bridge. "A little close," was often said
of John Graham. "A trifle sharp in getting the best of a bargain, but
to be depended upon every time."

Martha saw her father's faded felt hat bobbing up over the further
abutment, and she flew across the bridge. "Oh, I am so glad to see
you!" she said, catching hold of one of his big hands and covering it
with both of her small ones, as she danced along beside him.

"One'd 'most think I'd been to Ingy," said the man in what would have
seemed a gruff voice to some. Then he glanced at the little figure by
his side, and said in just the same every-day tone, out of which he
was seldom drawn, "Might'ly fixed up, seems to me."

"It's Easter, you know, pa. I went to Sunday-school. Miss Mary's lily
was there, and there was lots of evergreen, and the minister said I
helped him preach. And oh, pa, you don't know how the girls did take
me in! They sat up just as close!"

"Take you in! And why shouldn't they?"

"But you know, pa, they fix up so. And--" The little girl stopped,
seeming to feel it somewhat difficult to make her father understand
the situation.

"So it's fine feathers, is it?" And now there was a decided gruffness
in his voice.

But they had reached the door of the cottage, and the cat jumped down
from the chair and brushed against the legs of her master. There was
tea to be made, and the chicken to be dished; but the father did the
latter, after havi