tow-headed little tot, and when he came back from the field of glory he thought he could detect a tendency to red in it, but the fire smouldered and went out, and the hair turned brown--a dark brown with the glint of the quenched fires in it when it blew in the sun. Now frame a glowing young face in that soft waving hair, and you have a picture that will speak, and if the picture should come to life and speak as it was in the year of our Lord 1873, the first word of all the words in the big fat dictionary it would utter would be Bob. And so you may lift up your face and take your name and place in this story--Molly Culpepper, heroine. And when you lift your face, we may see something more than its pretty features: we shall see a radiant soul. For scientists have found out that every material thing in this universe gives off atomic particles of itself, and some elements are more radiant than others. And there is a paralleling quality in the spiritual world, and some souls give off more of their colour and substance than others, though what it is they radiate we do not know. Even the scientists do not know the material things that the atoms radiate, so why should we be asked to define the essence of souls? Yet from the soul of Molly Culpepper, in joy and in sorrow, in her moments of usefulness and in her deepest woe, her soul glowed and shed its glory, and she grew even as she gave her substance to the world about her. For that is the magic of God's mystery of life. And now having for the moment finished our discussion on the radio-activity of souls, let us go back to the story. Mary Barclay rode home from her son's wedding that night with Bob Hendricks and Molly Culpepper. They were in a long line of buggies that began to scatter out and roam across fields to escape the dust of the roads. "Well," said Mrs. Barclay, as they pulled up the bank of the Sycamore for home, "I suppose it will be you and Molly next, Bob?" It was Molly who replied: "Yes. It is going to be Thanksgiving." "Well, why not?" asked Mrs. Barclay. "Oh--they all seem to think we shouldn't, don't you know, Mrs. Barclay--with all this hard times--and the bank closing. And hasn't John told you of the plan he's worked out for Bob to go to New York this winter?" The buggy was nearing the Barclay home. Mrs. Barclay answered, "No," and the girl went on. "Well, it's a big wheat land scheme--and Bob's to go East and sell the stock. They worked it out last night after the bank closed. He'll tell you all about it."