Kathie's lessons, even to her music, were perfect the next day. Indeed, Mr. Lawrence quite complimented her.

Mrs. Alston said, "Kathie, if you would like to come over after school and relieve me a little while, I should be very glad."

So Kathie went straight from school There was quite a crowd already. Whole families had come in from the country, farmers with their wives and little ones.

"What taste you do see displayed!" Lottie remarked, sauntering to Kathie's vicinity. "Look at that woman's shawl with a yellow centre. Isn't it hideously ugly? And that purple bonnet with red flowers! Why didn't she put blue, by way of contrast?"

The wearer of the purple bonnet glanced at the two girls with a flushed and rather indignant face,—a hard-featured countrywoman, neither young nor pretty.

"O don't," whispered Kathie. "She heard you."

"As if I cared! Any person who outrages taste in that manner is a fit subject for criticism. How horridly that gored skirt hangs! Home-made to the last thread. If I couldn't have a dressmaker I would not have any new dresses."

Kathie was feeling quite distressed. She disliked to have Lottie to stand here and make remarks on every one who passed by.

"How do you make them 'ere things?" inquired a coarse but fresh young voice at her side.

Lottie tittered, and put her handkerchief to her face.

"What?" asked Kathie, in great confusion.

"These 'ere," pointing to some very pretty moss and lichen brackets.

"The moss is fastened to a piece of wood just the right shape,—like this"; and she turned the bracket round.

"Pasted on?"

"You could use paste or glue,—anything that adheres quickly."

"Adheres?"—with a kind of wondering stare.

"Sticks!" exclaimed Lottie, in a peculiar tone.

"I wasn't talking to you," said the girl, rather gruffly.

Lottie tossed her head with a world of scorn, and moved a little lower down to speak to some stylish friends that she saw coming.

"Thinks she's dre'dful fine!" continued the girl. "You find them things in the woods. I have lots of 'em, but I never thought o' puttin' them up anywheres. I've some a good deal bigger 'n any you have here."

She was referring to the lichens now.

"They must be very fine," said Kathie.

"Some of 'em are pinky, and all streaked, in rows like this. Don't you s'pose I could put 'em up? And I know Jim'd make me some fine things to stick the moss on. He's powerful handy with tools. Means to be a carpenter."

She was a nice, wholesome-looking girl of fifteen or thereabout. Kathie wished that she dared to correct her words and sentences a little.

"You might make your parlor or your own room look very pretty with some of these adornments," she remarked, with quiet interest.

"The youngsters would soon smash 'em up in my room," she said, with rough good-nature; "but ma'am will let me fix up the parlor, I know. And if you'd only tell me—" The girl wriggled around with painful hesitation.

"Well?" Kathie went on, encouragingly.

"About them 'ere frames that look like straw."

"They are straw."

"There, I was sure of it! Ain't they han'some! Do you know how to make 'em?"

"Yes."

"S'pose you wouldn't like to tell me?"—bashfully.

"Why, yes," answered Kathie, smiling. "First, you find some nice, long pieces of straw that are smooth and round, and, holding them together this way,—four or five or six, as wide as you want your frame,—sew them backwards and forwards with a fine needle and cotton. When you have made your four pieces cross them so, and fasten them through on the pictures at the corner. Then you tie a little bow over the sewing."

"Well, now, it isn't hard, after all! I mean to make some. What's the price of that?"

"Fifty cents."

"I mean to have one of 'em. I'll hunt up mother and come back." With that the girl dashed into the crowd.

"Profitable customer!" sneered Lottie.

Just then there was a rush to the table, and Kathie was kept very busy for ten minutes or so, while Lottie went over to Mrs. Wilder's table and began to "take off" Kathie's young woman, as she called her. It sounded very funny to the group of girls, exaggerated a little by Lottie's love of a good story.

Half an hour afterwards, when Kathie had almost forgotten, the girl came dragging her mother rather unwillingly up to the table.

"Here she is! I've made her come, though she said fust she wouldn't. But you was so real sweet to me that I couldn't give it up."

Kathie recognized the identical purple bonnet and dull red roses, and she flushed a little at the woman's sharp scrutiny.

"You ain't the one that laughed awhile ago," she said, the features relaxing a little. "City gals may think themselves a heap finer than country folk, but I can see bad manners as quick as the next one."

"I was very sorry for it," exclaimed Kathie, in a low tone.

"Then my gal wouldn't give me any peace till I come back"—apparently much mollified. "Now, Sary Ann, where's the picter you want?"

"O, they're all so bew-tiful!" exclaimed the girl. "And I know I can make the frames after I go home. Look at this 'ere cross and this basket of flowers, and these roses! O dear!"—in despair.

"She's so fond o' flowers,—is Sary Ann. She's had the beautifullest garden this summer that you ever see. Well, Sary Ann? I'd take the basket of flowers."

"But the cross!" exclaimed the girl, longingly.

They looked them over while Kathie went to wait upon another customer.

"I've concluded to get 'em both for her," announced the woman. "Sary Ann's a real good girl, and a powerful sight o' help to me. There's six younger 'n she, and Jim older; but boys can't do much about a house."

Kathie did up the pictures with a little sensation of triumph.

"O mother, look what a pretty baby's cap! Wouldn't it be sweet for Lily, and you promised to buy her one the fust time you went to town."

"She would have the baby called Lily," said the woman, as if in apology. "What's the price of this?"

"Two dollars and a half."

"O, that's too dear."

"We have cheaper ones."

"But this is such a beauty," said Sary Ann.

"I crocheted it myself," Kathie returned, quietly.

"O mother, I'd like to have something she's done her own very self! Did you make the frames?"

"No, my aunt did those, but I know how,"—with a sweet smile.

After a good deal of talking they concluded to take the cap; then Sary Ann wanted a pretty white apron for the "patron" of it, she declared.

"Nonsense!" said her mother.

But Sary Ann carried the day, and afterward she found something else.

Altogether the bill amounted to seven dollars and sixty-four cents. Not so bad, after all. The woman paid it without a bit of grumbling.

"It's a good cause," she said. "I often think of the poor fellows out there," nodding her head; "and sence the Lord gives 'em strength and courage to go, we ought to do something besides prayin' for 'em. My old man he put up a lot of turkeys an' chickens, an' apples and onions, an' sez he, 'Though we ain't any children out there, we've neighbors and friends, and every chap among the lot deserves a Thanksgiving dinner.'"

Kathie forgot all about the red and purple, thinking of the red, white, and blue, and of the tender place in this woman's heart.

"I want to give you a little picture to frame," she said to "Sary Ann"; "it will help you to remember me, as well as the cause."

It was a pretty colored photograph of two children,—"The Reconciliation."

The girl was so delighted that the quick tears sprang to her eyes. "There's no fear of my forgetting you," she declared, warmly. "I've had a splendid time!"

Kathie opened her portmonnaie and dropped the quarter in the drawer. Her mother had taught her to be scrupulously honest about such matters, and she wanted the gift to be altogether hers.

It was getting quite dusky now. Uncle Robert had brought Mrs. Alston over in the pony-carriage, and was to take Kathie back, "to smooth her ruffled plumes," the child said; for the knot of girls around Emma Lauriston had been discussing what they would wear.

"There'll be a great jam here to-night," said one. "Everybody will turn out, and I want to look as pretty as possible."

Kathie had begun to have some rather troublesome thoughts on the subject of dress. The larger girls at school talked considerably of the fashions. She realized her own position much better than she had a year ago, and knew that a certain style was expected of her. She hated to be considered mean or shabby, or, worst of all, deficient in taste; yet how much of it was right? Need it occupy all one's time and one's desires?

She felt very strongly inclined to make herself "gorgeous" to-night, as Rob would have phrased it; yet the only ornament she indulged in was a little cluster of flowers at her throat.

A jam it was, sure enough. Everybody had to look half a dozen ways at once. The hum of the laughing and talking almost drowned the music. By nine o'clock some of the tables began to wear a rather forlorn aspect, and two or three "shut up shop," having been entirely sold out.

Miss Weston's luck appeared less brilliant than that of many others.

"I wish you could take some one there who would buy ever so many things," Kathie said to Uncle Robert; "I am afraid she is feeling a good deal discouraged."

He smiled at the thoughtfulness, but made no immediate reply. Only Kathie noticed his standing there a considerable length of time.

When he came back to her he said, softly, "Kathie, will you not come and keep her table for a little while? I want to take her to the supper-room for some refreshments."

Kathie gave him a rather beseeching look.

"I'll be sure and not let her spend more than fifteen minutes. After that we will have a gay promenade."

Was it selfish not to want to stay here? Yet Kathie put on her most attractive smiles and actually sold several articles while Miss Weston was gone.

Then, hunting up Emma Lauriston, they set out on a tour, Uncle Robert said. They went to the Dutch kitchen, where Miss Jessie was one of the "young ladies" to-night; and very pretty she looked, though Uncle Robert insisted that she could not talk a word of Dutch. They had cream afterward, candy, nuts, and fruit, until it appeared to Kathie that she had eaten enough to last a week.

There had been a discussion at first about continuing the Fair on Thanksgiving day, but, as the articles were so nearly sold out, it was decided to have an auction. That made great fun indeed. By eleven o'clock the tables were emptied, and the refreshments reduced to a rather fragmentary state. The crowd, too, began to thin out.

Such a hunting for baskets and hampers and boxes of every description, such a hurrying and scurrying and confusion of voices, was seldom witnessed in quiet Brookside. In the crowd Kathie ran over Lottie.

"O dear!" the latter exclaimed, fretfully, "aren't you half tired to death, Kathie Alston? I've ruined my dress too,—this lovely blue silk! I am sure I don't know what ma will say. Some one trod on it, as I was sitting down, and tore off the trimming, and that clumsy Harry Cox spilled lemonade on me. Children ought not to be allowed in such places, especially boys who do not know how to behave!" and she uttered this with a great deal of emphasis. "And I've lost one of my new kid gloves. They were such a lovely shade. There is nothing in Brookside like them!

"She ought to have known better than to dress in such state, as if she was going to a party," whispered Emma Lauriston. "I am cream and pie and cake-crumbs, and goodness only knows what, and devoutly thankful that I shall not have to go to school to-morrow. But it has been a success. Mrs. Wilder made one hundred and forty dollars at her table,—our table," with a laugh.

"And mamma has made nearly two hundred."

"I long to hear the aggregate."

"It will not be less than two thousand," exclaimed Uncle Robert, trying to open a path for the girls.

Kathie was very tired when she reached home, and with a good-night kiss ran off to her own room, where she fell asleep with a strange jumble of ideas in her head.

Two thousand three hundred and twenty dollars for the widows and orphans when all expenses were paid. Everybody felt very well satisfied, and, after a good Thanksgiving dinner, affairs at Brookside rolled on as calmly as before.

Except, perhaps, that there were more anxious hearts. General Sherman was sweeping on to the sea, and brave Sheridan was carrying consternation to the heart of the enemy by his daring raids. Grant was drawing nearer and nearer to Richmond, but there would be some pretty hard work at the last, every one thought.

Some days afterward Kathie finished a letter to Mr. Meredith, giving him a glowing account of their labors at home.

"If he could come back to keep Christmas with us!" Kathie said, longingly. "And dear Rob—and O, the hundreds more who are away from pleasant firesides!"

Uncle Robert decided to pay Rob a Christmas visit, and they concluded to pack a small box to send. He was so fond of "goodies" that Kathie tried her hand at some of the Fair recipes and had excellent success. A few new articles were needed for every-day use, but these comprised only a very small share.

"He will have quite a feast," Kathie said, delightedly. "And there is not much fear of Rob being like Harry in the story."

Uncle Robert would be back by Christmas. They had planned to have a tree again, but Kathie declared that she could not think of a single thing she needed. She was quite busy with various other little matters, however, that required strict seclusion in her own room.

How different it was from last year! She and Aunt Ruth talked it over,—the waiting, the disappointment, and the sacrifice that after all had ended so happily.

"It seemed as if everything must have happened then, and that there would be nothing left for this year," she said.

Uncle Robert brought most satisfactory accounts from his nephew. Rob was well, contented and happy, and growing tall in an astonishing manner. He sent oceans of love and thanks to everybody, and wished that he could come home and see them.

"And here is a letter for you," said Kathie, taking it from the rack on his desk. "It is from Mr. Meredith. See if he is not going to surprise us. The ninety days will soon be ended."

Uncle Robert sat before the grate fire, sunning himself in the cheerful glow, but Kathie remarked that his face grew very grave.

"What is it?" she asked, anxiously. "He is not sick, or—"

"He is well. You may read this."

He folded down a little slip at the top and handed the letter to the child, who read:—

"Tell Kathie that I have seen General Mackenzie, her hero of last winter, and that he was delighted to have some tidings of her. And that during the last fortnight my ideas and sphere of duty seem to have enlarged. I think she will approve of my decision,—my brave little Captain who stood by her colors so nobly last winter, and preferred to minister to her suffering aunt rather than share the most tempting pleasures. So I shall give up my own comfort and idleness awhile longer, and stand by the dear country that needs every man in this last great struggle."

"Oh!" with a tender little cry. "He is not coming home!"

"No. He has resolved to stay and see the war through," was the grave reply.

Kathie looked into the glowing fire. It was very brave and noble in him for he did not like military life under the auspices in which he was seeing it.

"There is a little more," Uncle Robert said.

The "little more" brought the tears to her eyes. She stooped and laid her head on Uncle Robert's shoulder, nestling her face in the corner by his curly beard.

"He thinks—it will be—all right with him," she whispered, tremulously, a little sob quivering in her voice.

"Living or dying," returned Uncle Robert, solemnly. "My darling, I am very grateful for your share in the work. It seems to me that Mr. Meredith is capable of something really grand if he can once be roused to a sense of the responsibility and preciousness of life. There is so much for every one to do."

"But it doesn't seem as if I did anything."

"No act is without some result, my dear child, when we think that it must all bear fruit, and that we shall see the result in the other country, whether it be brambles or leaves or fruit; and we cannot bear fruit except we abide in the Master."

It seemed to Kathie, child as she was, that she had a blessed glimpse of the light and the work, the interest and sympathy, the prayers and earnest endeavor, which were to go side by side with the Master's. A warm, vivifying glow sped through every pulse. Was this the love of God,—the grace which was promised to well-doing? She hardly dared believe, it was so solemnly sweet and comforting,—too good for her, she almost thought.

"You see, little one, that He puts work for us everywhere, that his love and presence is beside it always. We may wait a long while for the result, yet it is sure. And we need not be sparing of our seed; the heavenly storehouse is forever open to us. He is always more ready to give than we to receive."

"O Uncle Robert! I am so glad for—for Mr. Meredith. It seems as if I couldn't take it all in at once!" and both of Kathie's arms were around his neck, her soft, rosy cheek, wet with tears, pressed against his.

"It is something to think of for all time, my darling."

"Uncle Robert," she said, after a long, thoughtful pause, in which she appeared to have glimpses of the life stretching out before her, and leading to the gate of the other country, "I used to wish that I could have—religion—myself, like mamma and Aunt Ruth—"

"My little Kathie, the 'kingdom of heaven' is within you. We have only to do His will, and we shall know of the doctrine. That is the grand secret of it all."