pes, where it is bright, where Julia can laugh and play,
where you can sing and listen to the birds. Stick to the sunny slopes,
dear, even when you are climbing alone."

Carol nodded her head in affirmation, though her face was hidden.

"I will, David. I will run right out of the shadows and find the sunny
slopes."

"And do not try to live by, 'what would David like?' Be happy, dear.
Follow the sunshine. I think it guides us truly, for a pure kind heart
can not mistake fleeting gaiety for lasting joys like you and I have
had. So wherever your journey of joy may take you, follow it and be
assured that I am smiling at you in the sunshine."

Carol stayed with him after that, sitting very quietly, speaking
softly, in the subdued way that had developed from her youthful
buoyance, always quick to smile reassuringly and adoringly when he
looked at her, always ready to look hopefully to the sunny slopes when
his finger pointed.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE END

In a low hammock beneath the maples Carol lay, pale and slender,
dressed in a soft gown of creamy white, with a pink rose at her belt.
Through an open window she could see her father at his desk up-stairs.
Often he came to the window, waving a friendly greeting that told how
glad he was to have her in the family home again. And she could see
Aunt Grace in the kitchen, energetically whipping cream for the apple
pie for dinner--"Carol always did love apple pie with whipped cream."
Julia was digging a canal through the flower bed a dozen steps away.
And close at her side sat Lark, the sweet, old, precious twin, who
could not attend to the farm a single minute now that Carol was at home
once more.

Carol's hands were clasped under her head, and she was staring up
through the trees at the clear blue sky, flecked like a sea with bits
of foam.

"Mother," cried Julia, running to the hammock and sweeping wildly at
the sky with a knife she was using for a spade, "I looked right up into
Heaven and I saw my daddy, and he did not cough a bit. He smiled at me
and said, 'Hello, little sweetheart. Take good care of Mother.'"

Carol kissed her, softly, regardless of the streaks of earth upon her
chubby face.

"Mother," puzzled Julia, "what is it to be died? I can't think it.
And I lie down and I can't do it. What is it to be died?"

"Death, Julia, you mean death. I think, dear, it is life,--life that
is all made straight; life where one can work and never be laid a