he laughed, and the laugh left the dear, slow smile
as a reminder after the joyous sound died away.

"The Cup-o'-Cold-Water Lady is in the church," Cynthia exclaimed
suddenly as she neared Theodore Starr's small edifice from whose
chimney smoke was rising. Then she kicked the fat sides of her mule
and turned her supercilious head aside in order to escape Marcia Lowe's
eyes, were they scanning The Way.

"It's right noble of her to take care of Sandy's father," the just mind
granted; "but Aunt Ann and I--must do without her!"

A touch of yearning lay in the words. Cynthia needed what Marcia Lowe
might mean to her, and only loyalty to Ann Walden restrained her.

But Marcia Lowe did not see Cynthia pass. For months now, through the
doors and unbarred windows, the light and air had come into the little
church, and the spirit of Theodore Starr had, in some subtle manner,
been permitted to live again. People dropped in occasionally and sat
and thought of the dead parson. Sometimes Marcia Lowe welcomed them
and coaxed them to tell her of her dear uncle. She always sat in what
she called "the minister's pew," and there were times in her lonely
detached life when she seemed to see the calm, fine face looking down
at her from the poor pulpit. He never looked the weak man who was
afraid of Ann Walden; to his loving niece he was ever the strong
brother-of-men who had died while serving them not worthy of him! As
Cynthia rode by, Marcia was building a fire in the drum stove, lately
placed in the church, and singing, prayerfully, a favourite hymn.

"Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of Nature newly born;
Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the dawn.

"So shall it be at last, in that bright morning
When the soul waketh and life's shadows flee."

The fire responded and outside the shadows of the dark trees of The Way
enshrouded Cynthia as she hurried on.

That day in the factory was the hardest day of Cynthia's life. To a
young girl born in freedom, be that freedom of the meanest, the
confinement and authority were deadly. Then, too, to witness the
utilization of the baby-things that were mere cogs in the machinery of
Crothers' business, hurt the mother-heart of the girl cruelly. At the
noon hour she tried to make the sad little creatures play--but they had
forgotten how, if they ever knew; they, stared at her with wondering
eyes; ate all of