“There are some things we cannot help, thee knows, John,” she was saying, “and it is our duty to bear these crosses with fortitude.” The reminiscent smile grew broader. “Thee was exactly right in what thee said about guile. But thee was also right in what thee said about goodness being as communicable as guile. This young man has not the highest kind of a reputation for gentleness. But all agree that he is honest. It displeases me very much”—and the smile was almost a laugh now—“that they should make me a mother-in-law, at my age, without my consent. But if I can forgive that, thee can forgive—hem—whatever ails thee. John, my dear husband, let us keep them with us and try that theory of thine which was so successful in my case. Let us see whether we cannot communicate our goodness to them—as they have communicated their guile to each other.” John Estover sprang upon his wife and embraced her so strongly and so suddenly that she said happily: “Why, John, it is just as if thee was courting again!” “Thee is right, Ann! Thee is a better Quaker than I am. Thee adheres to the precepts and does not forget them when they are of use. There is much hope in what thee says.” “And—and—John—just think of our lovely Marian—Mary Ann—leaving us! It is not to be thought of, is it? I know thee feels as strongly about that as I do. And that poor, misguided young man—” For she had seen them coming, with fearful faces, for their forgiveness, and he had not. They were almost at the door now. “Is it all agreed, John?” she cried. “Yes,” said John, “it is all agreed. Thee is a better Quaker than I am.” And that is why they received a welcome which was more hard to bear than the one they expected. “Now if thee were only one of us,” sighed John Estover to John Rem, as he held his two hands, and liked him at once for a certain big way he had with him. “What do you mean?” asked the younger man. “I hope that having forgiven us, you will not stop halfway.” “Ah, yes, that. Look to Ann for that! But if thee was a Friend, we might reclaim thee—” “I am a Friend,” shouted John Rem, tremendously happy to remember in time what he had not remembered much for years. “What!” It came in three voices—and six hands were laid with various expressions of tragedy upon him. “Not very orthodox,” confessed honest John Rem, “perhaps a confirmed backslider. But I claim my place in the church of my fathers, and I mean to keep it better in the future than in the past—with—with—the help of my—wi—wife!—” he got it out with a gulp—“and you. I am a Friend, sir. My father and my mother were, God bless them! I tried to tell it at the meeting. But they began to pray for us.” “My dear son John—” said John Estover to John Rem. Now, do you observe how right Mrs. Estover was in her views and practices concerning the “management” of husbands and fathers, and churches, and other things? ----- Footnote 1: Copyright, 1905, by _The Metropolitan Magazine_. Footnote 2: