ay of the kitchen.

"Where are we going this time? Home?" questioned Fern, loath to leave
the great house so full of beautiful things for one to admire.

"Not yet. I've just got a think. I b'lieve I know a lady which'll take
you both till your mother gets well. She's lame herself, but Aunt Pen
isn't, and they both love children. You'll have to ride on the cars.
Come on, don't be afraid. I've done it lots of times and I never get
lost."

Somewhat reluctantly, Fern allowed herself and brother to be lifted onto
the car by the big conductor, who evidently knew Peace, for he greeted
her with a cheery shout, "Hello, my hearty! Going to see your Lilac Lady
again?"

"Yes," Peace answered promptly. "I've got another bunch of orphans--that
is, they will be until their mother gets well and the father comes back,
if he can." She remembered at that moment that she did not yet
understand what had actually happened to the breadwinner of this
unfortunate family. "And I knew my Lilac Lady would be glad to take care
of them for a little while, so's they wouldn't have to be sep'rated."

With that, she ushered the children to seats inside the moving car, and
they were quickly whirled away to the corner where stood Teeter's
Pharmacy. Here they were helped off by the genial conductor, and Peace
led the way up the hill to the beautiful stone house which could be
plainly seen from the roadway now, because the thick cedar hedges had
all been cut down, and only tall iron palings enclosed the lovely
gardens.

Under her favorite oak by the lilac hedge lay the lame girl in her
prison-chair, looking whiter and frailer than ever before, and Peace
stopped in the midst of a rapturous kiss to ask fearfully, "Have you
been sick again?"

"No, dear," smiled the marble lips. "I am a little tired these days, but
perfectly well. Whom have you here?"

"Fern and Rivers Dillon. Their mother is dreadfully sick with _tryfoid_
fever and their father is in--well, it's either a jail or a graveyard. I
found them crying 'cause Mrs. Burnett had driven them out of the house
with the broomstick, and when I took them home to the lady missionaries
who are meeting at our house this afternoon, they began planning right
away to divide them up among some families of our church. I couldn't
bear to think of that, so I brought them up to you. I knew you'd be glad
to keep them till the mother gets well, and they don't want to go to the
Children's Home a bit. Rivers can't