a few of
mine."

"Well, I wish we had some way to make the chain end," sighed Peace
disconsolately. "I've got as big a c'lection as I want now and still
they keep a-coming. That's just the way those silk scraps did to the
Ladies' Aid in the story. O, dear, don't I get into the worst messes! I
wouldn't mind if they'd pay their own stamps, but I want my money for
Christmas, and if this keeps up I'll have to break into my bank. I
thought it would be such fun to get mail every day, but the very sight
of the postman now makes me sick."

"We might tell Grandpa. He'd know what to do," suggested Allee, seeing
that Peace was really heartily tired of this deluge of buttons.

"I--I hate to do that. He'd think we were little sillies and I guess we
are."

"'Twas your plan," Allee briefly informed her, for she did not care to
be called a "silly" by anyone.

"Of course it was," Peace hastily acknowledged. "And I'm tired of it.
Maybe--don't you think Miss Edith could tell us what to do?"

"I b'lieve she could. Ask her tomorrow. She'll be sure to pass, even if
she doesn't have time to stop awhile. O, see who's coming!"

"Elspeth!" cried Peace, almost bouncing out of her chair in her
eagerness to greet the dear friend whose face she had not seen for many
weeks.

"My little girlies!" The woman's sweet face bent over the eager one
among the pillows and lingered there. It was the first time she had seen
the crippled child since the doctors had pronounced her case hopeless,
and she had feared that her presence might recall to Peace's mind the
great misfortune, and bring on a deluge of tears. But Peace was thinking
of other things than wheel-chairs. This was the first time she had seen
her Elspeth since the Angel Baby had slipped away to its Maker, and she
glanced apprehensively into the tender blue eyes above her, expecting to
find them dim with tears of grief for the little one she had lost.
Instead, they were smiling serenely. She had locked her sorrow deep down
in her heart, and only God and her good St. John knew what a heavy ache
throbbed in her breast.

So the brown eyes smiled bravely back, and after a moment the eager
voice asked reproachfully, "Didn't you bring the b--the children? I
haven't seen Baby Elspeth yet, and she is--"

"Two months old tomorrow," proudly answered the mother. "Yes, we brought
her. We call her Bessie to avoid confusion of names. St. John has her
now, but he happened to meet our postman on the st