d eyed Peace skeptically.

"O, very well," retorted the maid crossly. "But mind your manners and be
a lady."

Before Peace could think of a suitable reply to that studied insult, the
girl had flung open the door and ushered in a very tall, angular person,
who at first sight seemed all arms and legs. But when one caught a
glimpse of his face, one straightway forgot all other characteristics,
for in rugged homeliness it would have been hard to surpass him, and yet
there was a striking kindliness of feature, a certain gentleness of eye
that instantly drew people to him, so that instinctively they knew him
to be their friend. Up into this face sulky Peace found herself staring,
as the tall figure crossed the parlor threshold, and came to meet her
with hand outstretched in greeting.

"How do you do?" a rich voice rumbled. "Are you the mistress of the
house today?"

"You're as homely as Abraham Lincoln," she gasped, scarcely aware that
she had spoken aloud. "In fact, you look very much like his
pictures,--as much as a gray, bald-headed, whiskerless man could look
like a black-bearded one."

"Thanks," he laughed genially. "That is the greatest compliment anyone
could pay me. I only wish I were as noble a man."

"We grow to be like our highest ideas," Peace answered primly, recalling
a little lecture she had received that morning. "You are Dr. Shumway,
ain't you? Pastor of South Avenue Church?"

"Yes, mademoiselle; and you are one of Dr. Campbell's granddaughters?"

"By adoption. My name is Peace Greenfield, and my father and real
grandfather were ministers in their time. That's why I am so much
interested in preachers. Have you any children?" she asked.

"Five," he answered, amused at the grown-up air she had assumed. "How
many are there of you?"

"Six. Four older'n me and just Allee younger. The bishop said he thought
all of yours were grown up. Are they?"

"We--ll, none of them are very small now. Pansy is the youngest, and she
is nearly fourteen."

"Pansy! Of all names! I s'pose she is as big as an elephant, ain't she?"

"She _is_ rather large for her age," acknowledged the surprised
minister, hardly knowing how to receive these candid remarks of his
youthful hostess.

"All the Pansies I ever knew were," sighed Peace. "I don't see why
people will name their biggest children Pansy."

"But how is one to tell how fat a child will be when it grows up?"
argued the puzzled man.

"It's never safe to name a bab