rest of his days. It took Carey to India, it left Grenfell in Labrador,
it led last year's college girls to every quarter of the globe. It leads
this one down among the dirty, helpless, little children trying to play
in wretched scorching city streets, it leads that one to the lonely
countryside where girls starved for life are waiting. And, oh, so often
it leads one to the door of her own church, to her own street, to her
own class-room, to the girl beside her in the office. Sometimes it leads
to one's own kitchen, or it stops beside the chair where one's own
mother sits. One can never tell where the road of the religion of love
may lead, but one cannot fail to see that those who follow it have
shining faces and they love to live.

One day at sunset I waited at the little wharf to walk through the
pines with Elizabeth. She was paddling in her canoe over the lake that
had turned to crimson and gold, from the fresh air camp on the other
side to which she went every afternoon in summer to play games and tell
stories. "I had a great day," she called in her clear, cheering voice as
she neared the wharf, and added as she stepped from the boat, "Little
Billy loves me and Katie Kane whispered softly and _blushed_ when she
said it, that she told me a lie yesterday and was never going to tell a
lie no more as long as she lived! Poor Katie," she laughed.

When we reached the knoll where the three pines were we stopped and
looked back. Words could never describe what we saw. Elizabeth stood
silently watching it, her sweet face, her dark hair and her middy blouse
tinged with the glow of it. As the sun slowly slipped into the lake she
waved her hand playfully at it. "Good night, old man," she said. "Give
us a cooler day tomorrow. Fifty new children come to camp." After a
moment while we waited for darkness to come stealing over the lake,
forgetful of me, she said with her whole soul in her voice, "Oh, I