E-text prepared by Al Haines Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 18426-h.htm or 18426-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/2/18426/18426-h/18426-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/4/2/18426/18426-h.zip) SUNNY SLOPES by ETHEL HUESTON Author of Prudence of the Parsonage, Prudence Says So, Etc. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown [Frontispiece: "A minister's wife! You look more like a little girl's baby doll."] Grosset & Dunlap Publishers -------- New York Copyright 1917 The Bobbs-Merrill Company This Book Is Written in Memory of My Husband Eager in Service, Patient in Illness Unfaltering in Death, and Is Dedicated to The St. Louis Presbytery To Which I Owe a Debt of Interest Of Sympathy and of Unfailing Friendship I Can Ever Hope to Pay CONTENTS CHAPTER I THE BEGINNING II MANSERS III A BABY IN BUSINESS IV A WOMAN IN THE CHURCH V A MINISTER'S SON VI THE HEAVY YOKE VII THE FIRST STEP VIII REACTION IX UPHEAVAL X WHERE HEALTH BEGINS XI THE OLD TEACHER XII THE LAND O' LUNGERS XIII OLD HOPES AND NEW XIV NEPTUNE'S SECOND DAUGHTER XV THE SECOND STEP XVI DEPARTED SPIRITS XVII RUBBING ELBOWS XVIII QUIESCENT XIX RE-CREATION XX LITERARY MATERIAL XXI ADVENTURING XXII HARBORAGE XXIII THE SUNNY SLOPE XXIV THE END ILLUSTRATIONS "A minister's wife! You look more like a little girl's baby doll." . . . . . _Frontispiece_ "Silly old goose," she murmured. Carol, with an inarticulate sob, gathered her baby in her arms. "I beg your pardon," she said, sweetly, unsmilingly, "I did not mean to be rude." SUNNY SLOPES CHAPTER I THE BEGINNING Back and forth, back and forth, over the net, spun the little white ball, driven by the quick, sure strokes of the players. There was no sound save the bounding of the ball against the racquets, and the thud of rubber soles on the hard ground. Then--a sudden twirl of a supple wrist, and-- "Deuce!" cried the girl, triumphantly brandishing her racquet in the air. The man on the other side of the net laughed as he gathered up the balls for a new serve. Back and forth, back and forth, once more,--close to the net, away back to the line, now to the right, now to the left,--and then-- "Ad out, I am beating you, David," warned the girl, leaping lightly into the air to catch the ball he tossed her. "Here is a beauty," she said, as the ball spun away from her racquet. The two, white-clad, nimble figures flashed from side to side of the court. He sprang into the air to meet her ball, and drove it into the farthest corner, but she caught it with a backward gesture. Still he was ready for it, cutting it low across the net,--yes, she was there, she got it,--but the stroke was hard,--and the ball was light.