ancy to hurt Rose who was always to be found in the
thick of its sale-dinners, bazaars and sociables. How she was able to
accomplish so much without neglecting her own heavy duties, which now
included cooking, washing, mending and keeping in order the old shack
for the hired men, was a topic upon which other women feasted with
appreciative gusto, especially at missionary meetings when she was not
present. It really was extraordinary how much she managed to put into a
day. Early as Martin was up to feed his stock, she was up still earlier
that she might lend a hand to a neighbor, harrowed by the fear that
gathered fruit might perish. Late as he plowed, in the hot summer
evenings, her sweaty fingers were busy still later with patching,
brought home to boost along some young wife struggling with a teething
baby. She seemed never too rushed to tuck in an extra baking for someone
even more rushed than herself, or to make delicious broths and tasty
dishes for sick folk. In her quiet way, she became a real power, always
in demand, the first to be entrusted with sweet secrets, the first to be
sent for in paralysing emergencies and moments of sorrow. The warmth
of heart which Martin ridiculed and resented, intensified by its very
repression, bubbled out to others in cheery helpfulness, and blessed her
quick tears.

Of her deep yearning for love, she never spoke. Just when she would
begin to feel almost self-sufficient it would quicken to a throbbing
ache. Usually, at such times, she buried it determinedly under work. But
one day, yielding to an impulse, she wrote to Norah asking if her little
namesake could come for a month's visit.

"I know she is only seven," the letter ran, "but I am sure if she were
put in care of the conductor she would come through safely, and I do so
want to see her." After long hesitation, she enclosed a check to cover
expenses. She was half frightened by her own daring and did not tell
Martin until she had received the reply giving the date for the child's
arrival.

"I earned that, Martin," she returned determinedly to his emphatic
remonstrance. "And when the check comes in it's going to be honored."

"A Wade check is always honored," was his cryptic assertion. "I merely
say," he added more calmly, "that if we are to board her, and I don't
make any protest over that at all, it seems to me only fair that her
father should have bought the ticket."

"Maybe you're right--in theory. But then she simply