"Doris will have Mr. Davison haloed before long. He has grown constantly better since the day of his death." "It taught me a lesson, Rosalie. I never believed there was any good in that man at all--but now I know there must have been a divine spark in him all the time, and maybe if we had not been so sure he was no good, we might have fanned the spark a little before he died. I feel guilty about Mr. Davison--my conscience hurts." "But, girls, you are so young--" protested Mr. Artman. "Just try us, father, that is all. We've got the goods--you watch us deliver," cried Zee, and for once Doris did not reprove her for the slang. "There does not seem much need for a minister here, then," he said, laughing. "With Rosalie taking my Sunday-school class, and Doris selecting my sermons, and both of them looking up references--what is the use of having a preacher?" "You must still listen to the troubles, and weep with the sad, and rejoice with the gay--and you must still do the marrying and the burying and the baptizing," said Rosalie quickly. Treasure and Zee nudged each other, and giggled ecstatically. For they knew what the others did not--that in all the loyal little church there was a covenant of joy passing around from one to another. "Let's go to him in gladness, rather than in complaint," was the new byword. And the people were storing up bits of happiness to take to him from day to day, little triumphs of business, spicy portions of humor and fun--and the daily annoyances and the petty grievances were being pushed aside and forgotten. For in time of stress and calamity, the heart of the church beats true. Of course, when sorrow comes, it is the minister's portion to enter into the innermost recesses of the soul, for that is his inalienable right, as pastor of human hearts, and no physical weakness of his own can weaken his fount of sympathy and tenderness. But because they loved him, all the church was learning to look up, and laugh. And somehow it made worship sweeter when there was joy and gratitude and faith among them and they were lifted out of the narrow circle of self. No wonder, then, that Mr. Artman, in the soft light of the room that had been his sanctuary for years, with his baby girls in his arms, and with the two strong radiant daughters standing near him, felt that the manse was a place of benediction and of peace. "I used to wonder--if I could rear my girls alone," he said, smiling, though his voice was tremulous. "There were so many problems--and it was hard to see if we were coming out just right--I used to wonder if I knew enough to handle it." Zee patted his shoulder reassuringly. "We never doubted it, father," she said, in a most maternal voice. "Of course, we had lots of trouble, father, getting grown up," said Treasure. "But you might know that when the time came--we would be--" "There with the goods," put in Zee impishly. "We just naturally rose to the standard of the manse," said the General grandly.