m all, and the knowledge of
this gave her father and mother great satisfaction. The sight of the
pair, returning his scrutiny, with bright faces, gave John Fernald his
next comment.

"After the preachers, I guess Nancy and Samuel deserve about the most
credit," he went on. "It was the little girl's idea, and Sam stood by
her, right through." He began to chuckle. "I can see Sam now, towing
those two old fellows up to the pulpit. I don't believe they'd ever have
got there without him. There certainly is a time when a man's hand on
your arm makes it a good deal easier to go where you know you ought to
go."

"It would have taken more than my hand to tow them away," said Sam
Burnett, "after they found out how it felt to be friends again. Nobody
could come between them now, with an axe."

"The music helped," cried Nan, "the music helped more than anything,
except the sermon. Think how Margaret worked over that!--and Carolyn
over that crazy little old organ! And Guy and Ed and Charles hung all
those greens----"

"I tacked the pulpit stair-carpet," put in Oliver, gravely. "While
you're assigning credit, don't forget that."

"I stoked those stoves," asserted Ralph. "That left-hand
one--Christopher! --I never saw a stove like that to hand out smoke
in your face. But the church was warm when I got through with 'em."

"You all did wonderfully well," came Mother Fernald's proud and happy
declaration.

"All but me," said a voice, from the centre of the group. It was a voice
which nobody had ever expected to hear in an acknowledgment of failure
of any sort whatsoever, and all ears listened in amazement.

"I did nothing but discourage everybody," went on the voice, not quite
evenly. "I believe I'm apt to do that, though I never realized it
before. But when that wonderful old man was speaking it came to me,
quite suddenly, that the reason my husband's family don't like me
better--is--because--it is my nature always to see the objections to a
thing, and to discourage people about it, if I can. I--want to tell you
all that--I'm going to try to help, not hinder, from now on."

There was never a deeper sincerity than breathed in these astonishing
words from Marian, Oliver's wife. Astonishing, because they all
understood, knowing her as they did--Oliver was oldest, and had been
first to marry--what a tremendous effort the little speech had cost her,
a proud woman of the world, who had never seemed to care whether her
husband's fa