carefully trimmed bunch of short poems gathered from
children's publications upon the white counterpane of Peace's bed. And
once Hope triumphantly displayed a thick package of beautiful
illustrations for articles already clipped out for pasting.

"Where did you get them?" Peace demanded.

"Miss Page gave them to me when I happened to mention what you were
doing," answered Hope, her face glowing with animation as she tenderly
turned the pictures one by one for Peace to see.

"How did she happen to have so many?"

"She used them in her English classes when they were studying about
Lowell and Hawthorne and Longfellow. See, here is one that illustrates
'The Children's Hour,' and here is another of 'Snow Bound.' This is a
beautiful picture of Hawthorne's birthplace, and here is 'Old
Ironsides.' You don't know much about some of the men yet because you
haven't had their poems in school; but you've got stories about everyone
of them for your scrapbooks, and if the pictures don't fit, we will hunt
up some other articles that will go with them."

Peace sighed, opened her mouth as if to protest, then closed it again;
but a rebellious look crept into the brown eyes; and had Hope been less
enthusiastic over her latest contribution to the scrapbook fund, she
might have noticed the determined set of the expressive mouth, and
suspected that something unusual was brewing under the brown curls.

As it was, no one but Peace was prepared for the host of children that
marched up the President's front door steps the following afternoon,
armed with paste-pots, brushes and scissors, and wearing big pinafores
over their school dresses. Each demanded to see the invalid, and when
ushered into the Flag Room was promptly set to work sticking pictures
onto cambric pages.

"This can hardly be a coincidence," thought Mrs. Campbell, assailed by a
sudden suspicion when patient Marie had shown the tenth visitor up the
winding stairs. "Here come three in one bunch. Yes, they are turning in
at the gate. Peace--"

The brown eyes glanced up from under their long lashes, and reading in
the gentle, old face the unspoken question, Peace calmly announced,
"Grandma, these are the Gleaners and their friends. They've come to help
me stick scrapbooks. You 'member you said they might have their next
meeting at our house?"

"But--but that's more than a week off yet," stammered the amazed lady.

"The _reg'lar_ meeting day is," Peace agreed, "but I was just