forgot. He only 'found peace,' and peace is not happiness--except
for the very old."

"Peace is not happiness!" re-echoed Priscilla, staring--"That's a
queer thing to say, lovey! What do you call being happy?"

"It is difficult to explain"--and a swift warm colour flew over
the girl's cheeks, expressing some wave of hidden feeling--"Your
idea of happiness and mine must be so different!" She smiled--
"Dear, good Priscilla! You are so much more easily contented than
I am!"

Priscilla looked at her with a great tenderness in her dim old
grey eyes.

"See here, lovey!" she said--"You're just like a young bird on the
edge of a nest ready to fly. You don't know the world nor the ways
of it. Oh, my dear, it ain't all gold harvests and apples ripening
rosy in the sun! You've lived all your life in the open country,
and so you've always had the good God near you,--but there's
places where the houses stand so close together that the sky can
hardly make a patch of blue between the smoking chimneys--like
London, for instance--ah!--that's where you'd find what the
world's like, lovey!--where you feels so lonesome that you wonders
why you ever were born--"

"I wonder that already," interrupted the girl, quickly. "Don't
worry me, dear! I have so much to think about--my life seems so
altered and strange--I hardly understand myself--and I don't know
what I shall do with my future--but I cannot--I will not marry