am not figuring on that," smiled the invalid, amused at the thought.
"I don't care any more about being 'it,' as you children say. I just
want to help Hill Street Church, for it has brought me the sun again
when I thought I had lost it forever."

They looked at her mystified, uncomprehending, but no one asked her to
explain; they were content to know that she was to take the important
solo part which Miss Kinney had thrown down.

Thus the days flew by, and Children's Sunday dawned bright and cool.
Glen was almost well, but Elizabeth did not feel that she could leave
him in any other hands, and he was still too fretful to attend the
service. In her quandary she flew to Aunt Pen, and that worthy lady
smiled happily as she answered, "Of course, I can take charge if you
wish, and I shall count it a privilege. You have done so much for
Myra--"

"Thank Peace for that. She is the one who found out her hiding-place."

"I do thank Peace with all my heart, and it has been a pleasure to help
her with her beautiful, generous, impulsive plans. She suggested--well,
you must come this morning and hear the children. We simply can't let
you off. Sit near the door if you like, so you can take the baby out if
he frets,--but I don't think he will. He loves music, and we've quite a
surprise in store for the congregation."

And indeed, it proved a great surprise, for no one saw the wheel-chair
which Hicks rolled stealthily into the tiny church early that morning
and hid so skilfully behind tall banks of fern and great clusters of
roses that only the lovely face of the lame girl could be seen by the
congregation--she was still very sensitive concerning her sad
affliction. And when the happy-hearted children, almost covered with the
garlands of flowers they carried, took their places around their queen,
the platform looked like some great, wonderful garden, where children's
faces were the blossoms.

And the music! How can words describe the joyous anthems which filled
the sanctuary with praise and thanksgiving, or the gloriously sweet,
silvery tones of the garden queen when she lifted her voice and poured
out her soul in song that bright June morning. All the bitterness of the
long months of anguish, despair and rebellion had been swept forever out
of her heart, and in its place reigned the gladness, the rapture, the
supreme joy which triumphs even over death. It seemed almost as if some
angel choir had opened the gates of heaven and let