feeble folk, with a song in her heart for him and them and to answer
every call from along Providence Road. Thus it is that the motive
power for the great cycles that turn and turn out in the wide spaces
between time and eternity, regardless of the wheels of men that whirl
and buzz on broken cog with shattered rim, is poured through the
natures of women of such a mold for the saving of His nations.

At last Rose Mary folded her letter, hesitated, and with a glint of
the blue in her eyes as her lashes fell over a still rosier hint in
her cheeks, she tucked it into the front of her dress and smoothed and
patted the folds of her apron close down over it, then turned with
praiseworthy energy to the huge bowl of unworked butter.

And it was nearly an hour later, still, that the Honorable Gid loomed
in the doorway under the honeysuckle vines, a complacent smile
arranged on his huge face and gallantry oozing from every gesture and
pose.

"Why, Mr. Newsome, when did you come? How are you, and I'm glad to see
you!" exclaimed Rose Mary all in one hospitable breath as she beamed
at the Senator across her table with the most affable friendship. Rose
Mary felt in a beaming mood, and the Honorable Gid came under the
shower of her affability.

"Do have that chair by the door, and let me give you a glass of milk,"
she hastened to add as she took up a cup and started for the crocks
with a still greater accession of hospitality. "Sweet or buttermilk?"
she paused to inquire over her shoulder.

"Either handed by you would be sweet" answered the Senator with