hing in the world, "Make faces at me, St. John,--the very worst you
know how."

"Why, my dear--" stammered the young minister, as much amazed at his
reception as he could have been had she dashed a cup of water in his
face. "Why, Peace, I don't believe--"

"Of course you know how to make faces!" she interrupted scornfully. "Do
you s'pose I've forgotten that day in Parker down by the barn? Make some
now,--the most _hijious_ ones you can think of."

There was nothing to do but to comply with her strange whim; so,
rumpling up his thick, shining black hair, he proceeded to distort his
comely features into the most surprising contortions imaginable. But
with the heavy ache in his heart and a growing lump in his throat at the
pitifulness of her plight, he was not real successful in diverting her
unhappy thoughts, and with a mournful wail of woe she burst into tears.

"My child!" he cried contritely, and in an instant his strong arms
closed about the huddled figure, and he held her fast, crooning softly
in her ear as a mother might over her babe, until at length the
convulsive gasps eased, grew less frequent, and finally ceased.

There was a long-drawn, quivering sigh, a last gulp or two and Peace
hiccoughed, "It's no use, St. John. I can't coax up a ghost of a smile
from anywhere. I've _thunk_ of all the funniest things that ever
happened to me or anyone else; I've scratched my brains to 'member the
funny stories I s'lected for Sadie Wenzell's bunch of scrapbooks; I've
even pretended the funniest things I could imagine, but it won't work. I
knew if there was a sign of a laugh left inside of me, your horrible
faces would bring it out. It did in Parker, when I thought I never could
smile again. But this time--get your legs out of sight,--under the
bed,--anywhere so's I can't see them. I don't like their looks!"

Had the situation been less tragic, he could not have refrained from
laughing at the ludicrous way she bristled up and snapped out her
command; but mindful only of the great trouble which had suddenly
overshadowed the young life, he hastily tucked his long limbs out of
sight under the edge of the bed, slumped as far down in his chair as he
possibly could, and fell to energetically stroking the brown curls
tumbled about the hot, flushed face, as he vainly tried to think of some
comforting words with which to soothe the rebellious, sorrowful child.

From below came the sound of a voice singing softly, and though the