but before she could
ask, the preacher sprang to his place, released the wheel, and the car
leaped forward as if alive, toppling Peace into Elizabeth's arms. When
she had righted herself, she demanded, "Where is Glen?"

"We left him with Mrs. Lane."

"That's queer. Is he sick?"

"Oh, no, but we thought it best to leave him at the parsonage this
time," she answered evasively. "Those are beautiful chrysanthemums you
have."

"Ain't they, though? Jud does have the best luck with his asters and
chrysanthemums. These beat Hicks' all hollow. Where is Hicks? I 'xpected
he'd come for me today. I didn't know Saint John could drive well enough
yet."

"Hicks was--busy. So we came."

"I s'pose that's why you left Glen. You didn't want to take the chances
with Saint John driving the car. Is that it?"

Elizabeth smiled faintly. "No, we never once thought of that, Peace.
Mrs. Lane offered to stay with him, and so we let her."

"Oh! Well, I s'pose I would have too, if I'd been you, 'cause 'tain't
often Mrs. Lane makes such an offer," Peace chattered on. "Allee wanted
to come today, but grandma said the Lilac Lady had asked for only me, so
she wouldn't listen to Allee's going, too, I should like to have had
her."

"She can come Tuesday."

"What's going to happen Tuesday?" asked the child, surprised at having
so definite a date named. Elizabeth caught her breath sharply, but at
that moment the auto drew up in front of the iron gates, and there stood
Aunt Pen on the walk waiting for them, smiling her gentle smile of
welcome, a little sweeter, perhaps, and infinitely more tender, for,
like Moses, she had just come from her Mount of Transfiguration.

Peace spied her first. "How is my Lady, my Lilac Lady?" she cried,
springing into her arms and hugging her warmly. "It's been _so_ long
since I've seen her! Is she _lots_ better, Aunt Pen?"

"She is perfectly well now, darling," the woman answered, closing her
fingers tightly over the little brown hand in her own, and leading the
way up the path to the house.

"She's not under the trees, and--"

"It is November, childie. Have you forgotten?" interrupted Elizabeth.

"So it is! Winter is 'most here. But look at the lovely chrysanthemums
I've brought her. It isn't too cold for them yet. Won't she be pleased?"

"I am sure she will," smiled Aunt Pen, and involuntarily she lifted her
eyes to the clear blue sky above.

The hall, as they entered its dim coolness, was deserted, and