As she spoke she snipped the last thread of silk with her little silver scissors, and tossed the piece of embroidery into Bethany's lap. Bethany spread it out admiringly. "You are a true artist, Lois," she said. "These sweet peas look as if they had just been gathered. They would almost tempt the bees." "They're not as natural as Ray's buttercups," answered Lois. "You can't guess whom she's making that table-cover for?" Mrs. Marion held it up for them to see. "For that dear old grandmother where we were entertained at Chattanooga last summer," she said. "Don't you remember Mrs. Warford, Bethany? She couldn't hear well enough to enjoy the meetings, or to talk to us much, but her face was a perpetual welcome. She asked me into her room one day, and showed me a great bunch of red clover some one had sent her from the country. She seemed so pleased with it, and told me about the clover chains she used to make, and the buttercups she used to pick in the meadows at home, with all the artlessness of a child. That is why I chose this design." "There never was another like you, Cousin Ray," said Bethany. "You remember everything and everybody at Christmas, and I don't see how you ever manage to get through with so much work." "Love lightens labor," quoted Miss Harriet, sententiously. "At least that's what my old copy-book used to say." "And it also said, if I remember aright," said Miss Caroline, a little severely, "'Plan out your work, and work out your plan.' It's high time we were settling down to business, if we expect to accomplish anything." While this Christmas council was in session in Miss Caroline's room, another was being held in an old farm-house in the northern part of the State, by Gottlieb Hartmann's wife and daughter. Everything in the room gave evidence of German thrift and neatness, from the shining brass andirons on the hearth, to the geraniums blooming on the window-sill. "Herzenruhe" was the name of the home Gottlieb Hartmann had left behind him in the Fatherland, when he came to America a poor emigrant boy; and that was the name now carved on the arch that spanned the wide entrance-gate, leading to the home and the well-tilled acres that he had earned by years of steady, honest toil. It was indeed "heart's-ease," or heart-rest, to every wayfarer sheltered under its ample roof-tree. He had accumulated his property by careful economy, but he gave out with the same conscientious spirit with which he gathered in. No matter when the summons might come, at nightfall or at cock-crowing, he was ready to give an account of his faithful stewardship. Not only had he divided his bread with the hungry, but he had given time and personal care, and a share in his own home-life, to those who were in need.