HOME AND FLOWERS 



know Uncle John will be glad, too." 



The deacon and his little friend set off 

 across the orchard. How many years it 

 had been since he had taken the old path 

 that led to the Graham farm. As they 

 went over the hill he thought of the old 

 times when he and J ohn Graham had been 

 boon companions. Then the trouble came 

 that made them enemies, and their lives 

 had been embittered by it ever since. 



"Bnt it's got to end, here an' now/' 

 said the deacon, as they neared the Graham 

 place. "That is, I'm goin' to do what I 

 can to end it." 



He wondered at the change that had 

 come over him. All bitterness seemed to 

 have faded out of his heart, like frost be- 

 fore the sunshine. "It's the Chris'mas 

 sperrit that's got holt o' me," he thought. 

 And he almost langhed alond in the joy 

 of the new feeling. He bent down and 

 kissed the child he was leading, and said, 

 "God bless you fer what you've done today, 

 little one." 



"Oh, I'm so glad," she cried, again, "50 

 glad !" 



They were near the house now, Sud- 

 denly the door opened, and a man stood 

 on the threshold. 



"J ohn," said Deacon Moore, holding out 

 his hand, "It's Chris'mas. We've be'n 

 fools long enough. Le's be frien's." 



The other answered not a word. He 

 tried to, but could not. Something seemed 

 to choke him. But his face spoke for him. 

 It was eloquent with the expression of a 

 feeling at heart to which his lips could 

 not give utterance. He put out his hand. 

 Great tears trickled over his cheeks, and 

 it seemed as if he almost expected it all 

 to resolve itself into a dream until he felt 

 the strong, warm grasp of Deacon Moore. 

 Then he knew that it was realitv. 



"Oh, Uncle John, aren't you glad?" 

 cried the child. 



"Yes, darling, very glad/' he said, 

 brokenly. 



About an hour after the deacon and 

 their little visitor had taken their depar- 

 ture Mrs. Moore looked out at a sight 

 that made her face glow like a June morn- 

 ing. Her husband and John Graham 

 were coming down the path together, lead- 

 ing the little girl between them. 



She ran to the door to meet them. "Oh, 

 I'm so glad !" she cried, and then, woman- 

 fashion, began to cry, as she held out her 

 hand to her old neighbor. 



"That's what we all say," said the 

 deacon. "You said it didn't seem like 

 Chris'mas, so I thought I'd bring along 

 some visitors to see if we couldn't liven 

 things up a bit. Walk right in, John, an' 

 make youself to home, jest as you used to. 

 This is the first time you've crossed my 

 threshol' in a good many year, but I hope 

 it won't be the las' time." 



Such a happy Christmas as that one 

 was the old house had never known before. 

 Mrs. Moore bustled about in the kitchen 

 to get a dinner that would do justice to 

 the occasion, and little Mary helped her, 

 and every now and then she would say, 

 "I'm so glad!" And then Mrs. Moore 

 would stop in her work long enough to 

 give the child a hug and a kiss, and say, 

 "Yes, dear — so'm 1." 



When the dinner was on the table, and 

 they sat down to partake of it. Deacon 

 Moore said, "Ask a blessin' John," and 

 while all heads were bowed a few broken 

 words were said, but how much they meant 

 God knew, for they told of the triumph 

 of love that sanctified and made sweet 

 forever the memorv of that Christmas day. 



"Material America needs no stimulus; its energies need no spur; its triumph is already at hand. It is spiritual 

 America that needs constant revelation and definition; and it is to be the high service of the literature of the future 

 as it has been the service of the literature of the past, to hold the ideals of this nobler America clear and beautiful 

 above the dust and tumult of a vast and powerful working community. ' ' —Hamilton W. Mabie. 



