a long vine of bitter-sweet, when she heard a voice that thrilled her
very soul. There was just one voice like that in all the world.
Trembling, she bent her head and peeped through the branches. One
swift glance and she knew him--her husband.

A strong self-control prevented her from swooning or crying out in
her great joy. Shaking like a leaf, yet holding firmly to a
tree-trunk, she gazed into the dear face. It was paler and thinner,
there were dark rings under the eyes, but the finely-curved mouth had
the same calm, sweet expression that told of peace within.

How like a king among men he looked, as he stood there, his hands
filled too with mosses and lichens, looking kindly on the boy and
talking interestedly. She never realised her utter folly so keenly as
at this moment. How she longed to fly to him and fall at his feet in
sorrowful confession. Two things kept her back: no eyes must witness
their first meeting, and another dreadful thought--what if it were
too late. What if he had taken her at her word and loved another.

She had not been a woman of the world so long for naught. She was an
adept in hiding her heart far out of sight. When Harry returned she
could calmly ask him, "Whom he had found in that out-of-the-way
place?"

"Why, don't you think!" said Harry, "among all the other precious
things in these woods I've found a minister. Wish we could put him
right on top of our boughs and things, and carry him home too, for
Christmas. Wouldn't mother be glad to see him, though! He preaches
every Sunday in a log church right down hereaways, and the people
come from all round the country to hear him. He looks as if he could