"That depends on how you look at it," said he. "Two thousand dollars is
considerable money for a single woman to raise in two years--_and_
interest."

He went away, as cheerful and determined as ever; and Mrs. Morrison saw
him go with a keen, light in her fine eyes, a more definite line to that
steady, pleasant smile.

Then she went to spend Thanksgiving with Andrew. He was glad to see
her. Annie was glad to see her. They proudly installed her in "her
room," and said she must call it "home" now.

This affectionately offered home was twelve by fifteen, and eight feet
high. It had two windows, one looking at some pale gray clapboards
within reach of a broom, the other giving a view of several small fenced
yards occupied by cats, clothes and children. There was an ailanthus
tree under the window, a lady ailanthus tree. Annie told her how
profusely it bloomed. Mrs. Morrison particularly disliked the smell of
ailanthus flowers. "It doesn't bloom in November," said she to herself.
"I can be thankful for that!"

Andrew's church was very like the church of his father, and Mrs. Andrew
was doing her best to fill the position of minister's wife--doing it
well, too--there was no vacancy for a minister's mother.

Besides, the work she had done so cheerfully to help her husband was not
what she most cared for, after all. She liked the people, she liked to
manage, but she was not strong on doctrine. Even her husband had never
known how far her views differed from his. Mrs. Morrison had never