, and when the grave-eyed minister left her
a few moments later, she was smiling ever so faintly, while the
heaviness of his heart had lifted a bit, and he felt better for the
child's sympathy.

Sitting alone in her chair under the trees after the tall,
black-frocked figure had disappeared down the avenue, Peace suddenly
heard the voice of Mrs. Campbell through the library window saying in
troubled tones, "I really ought to go up to the parsonage myself and see
Mrs. Strong in person. She would appreciate it more than anything else,
but it is utterly impossible to go today, with that Board Meeting to
attend to. I suppose I might write a little note of condolence now and
make my call tomorrow, but such things are so stiff at best--"

Abruptly Peace remembered that she had sent no message by St. John to
her sorrowing Elspeth, and with feverish eagerness she caught at her
grandmother's suggestion of a note, turning to the table beside her
chair where lay the dirty-red book which she had consulted so often
during the past few weeks.

"I'll write her, too," she decided. "There are some lovely
_corndolences_ in this 'Manual,' and I wouldn't for the world have her
think I didn't care terribly bad because one of her babies has died."

With impatient fingers she turned the worn and ragged pages until she
found the section she was seeking. Then pulling out pen and paper, she
laboriously copied one of the stilted, old-fashioned epistles printed
under the title of "Letters of Sympathy," and despatched it, hidden
under a beautiful spray of white daisies and fern, to the little
parsonage on the hill.

Elizabeth herself received the badly blotted missive, and with
startled, mystified eyes, read the incongruous words penned by that
childish hand.

"My dear Friend,--I realize that this letter will find you berried in
the deepest sorrow at the loss of your darling little Angle Baby, and
that words of mine will be intirely inacqueduct to assawsage your
overwhelming grief; yet I feel that I must write a few words to insure
you that I am thinking of you and praying for you. If there can be a
coppersating thought, it is that your darling returned to the God who
gave it pure and unspotted by the world's temptations. The white rose
and bud I send (Jud says there haint any in blossom, so I'll have to
take daisies) I trust you will permit to rest upon your darling's
pillow.

With feelings of deepest symparthy, I remain, dear friend,