Mrs. Sater paused outside the manse door in blank astonishment. Dear,
precious David so terribly ill, and poor little Carol getting ready to
take him away to a strange and awful country, and the world full of
sadness and weeping and gnashing of teeth, and yet--from the open
windows of the manse came the clear ring of Carol's laughter, followed
closely by David's deeper voice. What in the world was there to laugh
at, since tuberculosis had rapped at the manse door?

They were young, of course, and they were still in love,--that helped.
And they had the deathless courage of the young and loving. But Mrs.
Sater bet a dollar she wouldn't waste any time laughing if tuberculosis
were stalking through her home.

"Come in," said Carol, in answer to her second ring. "We saw you from
the window, but I was laughing so I was ashamed to open the door.
David's so silly, Mrs. Sater. Since he isn't obliged to strain his
mental capacity by thinking up sermons, he has developed quite a funny
streak. Oh, did you bring us some nice fresh eggs? How dear of you.
Yes, the doctor said he must eat lots of them."

"They were just laid yesterday," said Mrs. Sater complacently. "And I
said to myself, 'Nice fresh eggs like these are too good for anybody
less than a preacher.' So I brought them. There's just half a
dozen,--he ought to eat that many in one day."

"Oh, yes, easily. He is very fond of egg-nog."

David sputtered feebly among the pillows. "Oh, easily," he echoed
helplessly.