might have envied them.

"Sit in," invited Nan, as Jem placed his sizzling tin platter of
trout on the table. "It's your turn to say grace, Jem."

"I've done my part frying the trout," protested Jem, who hated
saying grace. "Let Walter say it. He LIKES saying grace. And
cut it short, too, Walt. I'm starving."

But Walter said no grace, short or long, just then. An
interruption occurred.

"Who's coming down from the manse hill?" said Di.



CHAPTER IV. THE MANSE CHILDREN

Aunt Martha might be, and was, a very poor housekeeper; the Rev.
John Knox Meredith might be, and was, a very absent-minded,
indulgent man. But it could not be denied that there was
something very homelike and lovable about the Glen St. Mary manse
in spite of its untidiness. Even the critical housewives of the
Glen felt it, and were unconsciously mellowed in judgment because
of it. Perhaps its charm was in part due to accidental
circumstances--the luxuriant vines clustering over its gray,
clap-boarded walls, the friendly acacias and balm-of-gileads that
crowded about it with the freedom of old acquaintance, and the
beautiful views of harbour and sand-dunes from its front windows.
But these things had been there in the reign of Mr. Meredith's