e youngest sister, as her father
began to discuss some household problem with his sister. "But I'll bet
he's got some pet scheme up his sleeve. His party isn't just to
introduce us,--you see."

Penelope was shrewd in her observations and knew her father like a book,
but she did not guess his secret, nor was she particularly curious this
time. She did not want a Christmas party at the parsonage. It meant so
much work and clutter. Besides, it was so much nicer to have just a
little family gathering, such as they were accustomed to each year.
There would be Kitty and Ed, Carrie and Phil, and Dick.--Dickson was
still unmarried.--That would make five extra in the little family, and
five people were a plenty to plan for, without having a party. But then,
what was the use of objecting? Her father had said party, and a party
there would be. The only thing to do was to make the best of it and plan
the most unique program the brains of the whole household could devise.
So Aunt Anne, Penelope and Pansy set to work.

True to his convictions, Dr. Shumway wrote nothing of his plans to his
son, nor did he once mention his hopes to the distracted Campbell
family, although he had skilfully managed that his son's professional
reputation should reach the ears of them all. To be doubly sure that his
pet scheme should not fail, he gave Peace a personal invitation to
attend his Christmas party, and made several visits to the Campbell home
apparently to discuss his plans with members of that household, while in
reality his object was to rouse the invalid's curiosity and interest so
she would be sure to join the merrymakers at the parsonage on that night
of nights. Then Dickson could not fail to meet her and their
acquaintance would come about naturally. He could not feel that Dr.
Coates and the specialists had really found the seat of the trouble
yet, but Dickson would know if there was any hope for the little
sufferer. Dickson,--stalwart, genial, gentle Dickson,--his boy,--his boy
would know.

So it was with great eagerness that he looked forward to the Christmas
party, for Peace had solemnly promised to be there in her wheel-chair,
and it was hard to refrain from telling the whole story to his boy
before the time was ripe.

But when at last the night arrived, Peace was not among the guests who
thronged the gayly decorated parsonage. The old-time pain had come back,
and she lay white and spent upon her bed in the Flag Room, watching with