Kathie's Soldiers

"It hardly seems possible!" Kathie said, with a sob. "But they have not heard, and they will be so glad!"

Uncle Robert began to pace the room, much moved. Of late death had appeared such a certainty, and though he knew the life had been freely given for his, his first emotions were those of devout gratitude to God that this sacrifice had not been required. Then he paused before Kathie. "My little darling," he said, "it is your good news. And though the Morrisons may hear it in a day or two from other sources, we owe it to them immediately. Will you go?"

Kathie wanted to very much, but O, how was she ever to get through with it! Her voice seemed to be all a quiver of tears.

"Would you like me to accompany you?

"If you will."

So Kathie bathed her face and tried to rub the little throbs out of her temples. In a few moments she was ready, and the two walked down the avenue.

"There cannot be any mistake?" she exclaimed, pausing at the door.

"O no."

Grandmother was holding the baby, who had a slight cold and fever. Ethel sat at the window, hemming some breadths of ruffling. She sprang up and brought out chairs for them, and after one or two little inquiries went back to her work. Oddly enough the conversation ceased for a few moments, and in the silence Kathie fancied that she heard her heart beat, it was in such a tumult.

"I believe Kathie has some news for you," announced Mr. Conover, gravely.

Kathie rose and twined her arms around Ethel's neck.

"It is this," she said, all in a tremble,—"I cannot tell it as I ought, but your dear father is alive, Ethel, and is coming home soon."

"Not William! Miss Kathie!" and grandmother almost let the baby fall.

"Yes," replied Mr. Conover; "we heard to-day. I have brought the letter."

"The Lord be praised!" Then grandmother came over to Kathie, but she and Ethel were crying softly in each other's arms.

"Child, are you one of God's own—Heaven-sent? for you bring us joy continually."

"But it was sent to me," Kathie said, over a great break and falter. "If I could have made it so in the beginning,—but I couldn't, and God kept him safely. We all waited and prayed."

"And I despaired! I am worse than doubting Thomas! Ah, how good God is to us all!"

Mrs. Morrison entered with a pail of milk "O," she exclaimed, "you have had news! Have they found his body?"

"His body and soul. He will be back shortly. The tidings came through a friend of Kathie."

"Dear Ethel, little one, it is blessed news! You would never have wanted for love and kindness while Hugh and I were alive; but there's no love quite like a parent's. How Hugh will rejoice! He never could give him up altogether."

"Mr. Conover has a letter to read," said grandmother.

Little did General Mackenzie imagine that his words would bring so great a joy. They all listened breathlessly, and then wanted it read over again to lengthen out the good news. And when at dusk Uncle Robert declared they must go, they all begged for Kathie to stay and drink tea, and would take no refusal.

"But I must return," said Uncle Robert, "or the table will be kept for us both."

Mrs. Morrison made some biscuits, and brought out her china, as well as a damask table-cloth. Hugh, coming in, wondered at the feast; but Ethel's first word told him all. She, poor child, was brimful of joy. It did one good to look at the roses on her cheeks, and hear the little laughs that came for joy, and yet were so near to tears.

When Kathie reached home she was absolutely tired with all the excitement, and mamma said there must be no lessons that night; so they took the lounge in the shaded half-light of the library, and Kathie laid her head in Uncle Robert's lap, for it almost ached. And there they had a tender talk.

"But we shall never forget it," she said. "It seems as if it would help me to remember all the pains and sorrows and burdens that we can try to bear for one another."

"It is what God means us to learn and to do. 'For no man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto himself.'"

"And we are all so oddly linked in with one another,—such a little thing brought the Morrisons here, and then my meeting General Mackenzie gave him an interest. The news would have come in a day or two, I suppose; but, Uncle Robert, it seemed so good, since he risked his life in your place, that we should be the first to take the joyful tidings to them. I haven't anything in the world to ask."

"Yes, my darling, I am so glad that General Mackenzie did find him; and more than glad that our brave soldiers can return to their own pleasant firesides."

"Neither of our soldiers was very grand in the world's estimation, that is, as to position, but they have both suffered a good deal for the cause. It is so sweet to think that, though the world knows nothing about it, God remembers."

"And that no act of self-denial or heroism goes without its reward there. It is hard sometimes to see it passed so unnoticed in this world, but I suppose that is where patience needs to have her perfect work."

Kathie wrote a little note to Rob the next morning, beside getting her lessons; and before the day ended they had a letter from Mr. Morrison himself, announcing that he was to be sent home on a furlough.

"I shall have a dangerous rival," exclaimed Mr. Meredith, in his teasing tone, "and when General Mackenzie comes I expect to be quite overshadowed. No stars nor bars nor shoulder-straps,—nothing but a poor unknown private! What good could he do?"

"He followed his captain and did his duty."

"Good!" exclaimed Charlie, who was standing beside his brother-in-law. "You will never find Kathie being caught by the glitter and show."

The old smile twinkled in Mr. Meredith's eyes.

"Well, I will promise not to be very jealous. Only you know you sent me off to war, so you ought to allow me some special indulgence."

"I!" exclaimed Kathie, coloring violently.

"Yes, you cannot disown me; I am one of your soldiers. Dear little Kathie, I hope always to be true to my colors."

The last was uttered in a low tone, but it brought a more vivid flush than the preceding sentence. Though now her eyes were downcast, yet in her heart of hearts she understood.

"It seems as if Rob ought to come home in the general returning. How glad I shall be to see the dear old fellow!"

Was Rob fighting the good fight?

CHAPTER XIV.

The days were so long and pleasant now that Uncle Robert thought they would not start for Middleville until after dinner, especially as there would be a bright moon in the evening. Kathie had written a little note to Sarah, and now the two started in high satisfaction. For since the good news about Mr. Morrison Kathie seemed full of happiness and content.

The place looked less dreary than in winter, though the houses appeared rather more shabby by contrast. One or two were being painted, which would shame the rest sadly. But the hillsides were taking on an emerald tint, and groups of cows were wandering about as if patiently waiting for the grass to grow into nibbling length.

Sarah was standing by the gate, watching for them. A very decided change had come over her. She was taller and looked less stout, her complexion was not so rough and red, her dress, a striped green and white gingham, fitted nicely, and was finished at the throat by a linen collar. She had eschewed waterfalls and rolls, though she laughingly admitted to Kathie afterwards that it was because she couldn't get her hair up to look like anything. But the great thick coil was really beautiful, and the green ribbon very becoming.

She had changed somewhat in manners as well, being less boisterous and effusive. Indeed, Kathie thought her very lady-like as she ushered them into the house.

"Is your brother anywhere about?" asked Uncle Robert. "If so, I will go and find him while you girls have a talk."

"He is up in the lot. Steve will show you, or, better yet, call him."

Then she led Kathie into the parlor. There were green paper shades at the windows, which softened the light in the room, and Kathie's first glance took in a world of improvements.

Sarah colored with a little conscious pride as she led her to a veritable modern sofa, instead of the old stiff one, worn at the edges.

"Take off your hat and sack," she said, with a touch of bashfulness.

Kathie complied.

"I am so glad to see you. I have such a host of things to tell you."

"And you have been out gathering violets. How pretty and spring-like they are!"

"Yes, Jim helped me. We thought you would like them so much. And I have been trying to—to get fixed up a little. It cannot be anything like your house, but somehow I want it as nice as I can make it. Jim is so good too, and Cousin Nelly; and I am so happy sometimes that I really wonder if I be I, like the old woman."

"I am very glad"; and Kathie gave the hand a squeeze in her own tender little fashion.

"I want to tell you all before any one comes in. Isn't it delightful to have this sofa? I made father half a dozen shirts all by myself, and he was so pleased,—you can hardly think! He gave me twelve dollars to spend just as I pleased; but I told mother I would rather let it go towards a new sofa than to buy the finest dress. Nelly said it would be so much more comfortable than that hard, shabby thing, that looked as if it might have come out of Noah's Ark. So mother gave me fifteen,—she has all the money for the milk and butter and eggs,—and when father heard of it he added three more. I was afraid he would think I wanted to be too fine, but he only laughed a little. Mother and Nelly went to the city and bought it. I was so glad that I could have cried for joy, and I know father is very proud of it, though he does not say it in so many words."

"It is a very nice one, and furnishes the room quite prettily, beside the comfort of it."

"Jim made me this table, and Cousin Nelly and I covered it with paper and then varnished it over, and we have a pretty chintz one up stairs. Nelly and I have a room together now. I can keep everything so much more tidy than when the children pulled all the rubbish about. And look at my two new pictures!"

They were large colored engravings,—one, "The Wood-Gatherers," and the other the interior of a German peasant's cottage, where the mother was putting a babe to sleep in its odd wicker cradle.

"Jim bought them at a newspaper-stand one day, and only paid twelve cents apiece for them. He's powerful—no, I mean very fond of them. I am trying to leave off all those old-fashioned words and expressions. Then he made the frames, and Nelly and I covered them with pine-cones."

They certainly were very creditable.

"But how industrious you must be!" exclaimed Kathie. "You still go to school?"

"Yes. I wouldn't give that up for half the world. You see Cousin Nelly helps mother a good deal, and she helps me too. I have been telling her ever so much about you, how good and lovely you were. But O, wasn't I a clown and an ignoramus when you first saw me! I don't wonder that girl laughed, though it was hateful in her; but I shall never, never forget how kind you were. O Miss Kathie, it seems to me if the real nice people in the world would only help the others a bit, we should get along so much faster. I feel as if I'd had it in me all the time,—a great hungry longing for something,—and I find now that it is beauty and order and knowledge."

Sarah's face was in a glow, and her steady, ardent eyes held in them a soft and tender light. It seemed to Kathie that she was really pretty, or something more than that,—electrified with soul beauty.

"Father pretends that he is afraid I shall get too proud and not be good for anything, though he was ever so much pleased when he saw the parlor in such nice order. And he thought the shirts a wonder. I shall not be sixteen until November, and there are girls older than I who could not do it. In vacation I am going to make Jim a whole new set of nice ones with linen bosoms."

It seemed to Kathie that there was very little danger of Sarah's being spoiled by acquiring knowledge.

"You deserve the utmost credit," she returned, in her simple manner, that had in it no shade of patronage or condescension.

"I ought to do something for the pains and trouble you have taken."

"It is a pleasure too."

"Miss Kathie, you are so different from some rich people. I wonder what makes it?"

A soft color stole up into her face. She would fain have kept silence, but she saw that Sarah was waiting for an answer. "I think it is because mamma and Uncle Robert believe that wealth was not given for purely personal or selfish purposes. It is God's treasure, and we are to put it out at usury, like the parable of the talents, and the usury means making other people happy if we can."

"Then I suppose I ought to try and make some one happy?"

"Do you not?" asked Kathie, simply.

"Yes, I do occasionally when it is quite a trouble. The children beg me to read to them,—they are so fond of stories; and now father always wants me to read our paper to him. It comes on Saturday and he is always so tired that night. Still, that isn't—" and Sarah paused as if she despaired of rendering her meaning clear to her young listener.

"I think Uncle Robert would say that is it surely. Once in a while we can do larger things; but isn't it the little deeds that require the most patience? It is the steps that make up the whole path."

"So it is. I never thought of it before"; and she smiled, relieved. "You believe, Miss Kathie, that what we do at home is just as good in God's eyes as if we did it for a stranger? It almost seemed to me as if I ought to go out and look for some poor ignorant person instead."

"Both are doing good in different ways. Maybe it is best to learn to do the good at home first"; and Kathie remembered her early efforts in assisting her mother.

"I want father to see that all my knowledge and my queer likes, as he calls them, will not really spoil me. Grandmother Strong has just such old-fashioned notions. She thinks my going to school perfectly absurd. But Cousin Ellen says the world has changed a good deal since grandmother was young."

"And I have brought your books," said Kathie, when there was a pause of sufficient length. "The three are half of a pretty set; some time you may like to get the others."

"You are so kind. I hated to bother you, but I knew you could make the best choice."

"It was no trouble at all,—Uncle Robert did it, and he bought them for half a dollar less than their usual price."

"I am so much obliged!" and Sarah's face was in a grateful glow.

Kathie had wanted very much to supply the other three.

"If Sarah were poor," replied Uncle Robert, "I should not object; but when such a person asks you to do a favor, it is best to keep simply to the letter of the request. If you gave her so much more, she would hesitate about asking you to do such a thing a second time, that is, if she possessed any real delicacy."

Kathie saw the force of the reasoning.

Presently Cousin Ellen came down. She was a neat, commonplace-looking woman of about thirty, but with a good deal of shrewd sense in her dark gray eyes. Her black calico dress was the perfection of tidiness, and the merest little ruff of book-muslin edged it round the neck.

Kathie liked her very much. She had been in the midst of the war operations for the last three years, and to please Sarah she related numberless incidents that interested Kathie exceedingly. Then she had to go up stairs and see their room, take a tour around, and have all the flower-beds explained to her, to go to the barn and inspect several new articles Jim was making. Uncle Robert and the boys joined them here, and Kathie was introduced to Mr. Strong.

"Don't you have a little too much in-doors and study?" he asked, pleasantly. "I shouldn't like to see one of my gals look as white as you do."

"O, she is always white, father," said Sarah, admiringly.

"And she has plenty of roses too, for the most part," explained Uncle Robert, "only for the last few weeks she has been rather overtaxed, I think. We have had a returned soldier, a very dear friend, ill, and been in great anxiety about another."

"Thank the Lord for all who've come home safe," said Mr. Strong, in his clear, forcible tone, and every one of them felt like adding an "Amen" to it.

Martha ran out to call them to tea.

There was the great table spread, and all the children around it, even to fatherless Willie, who would never need a friend while Jotham Strong lived.

It was a very enjoyable supper. The new influence was perceptible even in sturdy Mrs. Strong, who took a little pains that she might not shame Sarah before her company.

Kathie asked Mrs. Strong to let Sarah come down some Saturday and make her a visit.

"I can't exactly explain, Miss Kathie, and I hate to be ungrateful for your kindness, but I feel as if you and your friends were above Sarah. Folks ain't all alike, and I s'pose the Lord didn't mean 'em to be, but I don't want Sarah laughed at, and I don't want any one to think she's trying to crowd in We're plain, old-fashioned people"—

Mrs. Strong paused, very red in the face.

"No one will think that at Cedarwood," answered Kathie, softly.

So presently the promise was given. In a fortnight Cousin Ellen and Sarah were to go down to Brookside to do some shopping. Ellen wanted to call on several of the relatives, but Sarah might go at once to Cedarwood.

"I expect it will be like a little bit of heaven," the girl whispered. "I never was in a real elegant house in all my life."

Kathie described her visit to Aunt Ruth in glowing terms. "I think it is delightful to be rich, after all," she said, contentedly. "You can make so many people happy."

"And while you study the happiness of others and your duty towards them the riches will hardly prove a snare," returned Aunt Ruth.

Before another week had ended they had a new joy for which to be very thankful,—the return of Mr. Morrison. He still looked a little pale and thin, but had improved wonderfully since the day when General Mackenzie found him in the forlorn negro quarters. Glad enough he was to get home to his little Ethel, who hardly let him go out of her sight. Nothing would do but that the whole family must come down to the cottage and drink tea.

"I must express my obligations once more to you," said Uncle Robert, in the evening; "and I am most grateful to God for your return, and that he did not require so costly a sacrifice at my hands."

"He knows that I am glad enough to come back; but if you'll believe me, sir, it was a great comfort, when I thought myself dying, that it was in your stead, and that your life, so much more valuable than mine, had been spared. I believe you would have sorrowed for me truly,—and Miss Kathie here,—as well as my own."

Kathie took his hand. "I've been thinking of this ever since the night you offered to go: 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.'"

The sweet voice trembled a little. It would always have a tender strand in it when it came to that verse.

"Ah, Miss Kathie, those precious words were for the Saviour of us all. What can we ever do to merit them?" and the soldier drew the back of his hand across his eyes.

"God gives the grace to weak human nature," Uncle Robert said, with solemn sweetness.

Walking home, Kathie started from her revery. "Now if Rob could only come back," she exclaimed, "our soldiers would all be together. You remember the day he was so elated about the draft?"

"Yes. Dear Rob! I hope he has done good service. I am very anxious to see him again."

Then Kathie began to count on the promised visit. "It is not because I am so proud of Cedarwood, or the handsome things in it," she explained to Uncle Robert, "though I do think them all very lovely; but it will be such a pleasure to her,—just as my going to Miss Jessie's when we were so poor."

"I understand"; and he smiled.

There had been quite a discussion about having a second girl. Uncle Robert fancied that Kathie's further knowledge of household details had better be postponed until she had less upon her hands. Jane Maybin, who had been a good deal out of health lately, and unable to work in the factory, as the dust irritated her lungs and made her cough, was quite anxious to take the situation. What with company and increasing social duties, Mrs. Alston found her time much interrupted.

Hannah did all the sweeping on Friday, but it was a heavy tax; so Kathie only dusted awhile on Saturday morning, cut fresh flowers and arranged them, and busied herself about little odds and ends. Mrs. Alston decided to have Jane, and Aunt Ruth took a walk over to the cottage.

Kathie waited in a peculiar state of anxiety, Lucy and Annie Gardiner had proposed to come over that very afternoon, but she preferred to have Sarah quite alone, that she might feel free to enjoy everything.

It was almost twelve when she reached Cedarwood. Kathie was haunting the cottage, where she could have a good look down the street, but she hardly recognized the figure at first. It seemed as if Sarah grew every week. She looked quite like a young lady, Kathie thought. Her light gray dress was trimmed with several rows of blue ribbon, and the sack, matching it, made a very neat suit. Her white straw hat was trimmed with blue, and a cluster of crisp, fresh flowers, that looked almost good enough to be natural. There was nothing in that outfit to be ashamed of.

"O," she exclaimed, with a long breath, "it's like going into the Garden of Eden! The house and the trees, and that lovely lake! I should want to be out of doors forever."

"Uncle Robert has promised to row us around the lake this afternoon. A month later it will be much more beautiful. Did you finish your shopping?"

"O yes, though we were bothered a good deal, and that made me later. Nelly wanted me to go to dinner at Cousin Rachel's."

"I am glad that you did not."

Sarah could not be hurried into the house. She wanted to view the fountain, the groups of evergreens, the broad porch, and fancy just how the roses and honeysuckle would look. But presently they entered. Kathie led her up stairs to her room, to lay aside her hat.

"O, I don't wonder Jim said it was a palace!" she exclaimed, with breathless delight. "What a lovely room! Why, it's pretty enough for any one's parlor!"

Kathie smiled a little, remembering the day on which she had thought it wonderful as well.

Sarah was hardly satisfied with her inspection when the bell rang for dinner. In the hall they met Aunt Ruth, and in the dining-room Kathie introduced Sarah to her mother.

A girl with less natural adaptation or ambition might have been very awkward. But Sarah had watched Kathie to some purpose, and now gave herself courage with the thought that she could not go far astray if she copied Kathie. To be sure she blushed and hesitated a little, and, as she afterward confessed at home, "trembled all over"; but she did acquit herself very creditably.

"I can scarcely realize that it is the same girl who wrote you the Christmas letter," whispered Mrs. Alston in a soft aside, and Kathie smiled gratefully at her mother's commendation.

Then the two girls began a regular tour about the house. The pictures, the statues, the furniture, Aunt Ruth's beautiful bay-window still full of vines and flowers, and the abundance of books, were so many marvels to Sarah. And here, in the midst of all this beauty, hung her lichen. The tears of delight came to her eyes, in spite of her strong effort at repression.

"Now if you would only play and sing for me," she pleaded, bashfully. "You're so good that I hate to ask anything."

"With pleasure."

It seemed as if Sarah could never get enough music. She listened as if she was entranced, the new spiritual light coming into her eyes, showing the strong and earnest capabilities of her soul.

Uncle Robert looked in upon them.

"I think you had better go out on the lake now," he said. "The air is so delightfully soft."

Sarah sighed. "I cannot imagine which is the best, everything is such a pleasure."

"We will have some music when we return. You will like the sail, I know."

They found their hats and ran down the broad steps. Quite a party were coming up the drive. Charlie and Dick, Mr. and Mrs. Meredith, and O, joy! this tall, soldierly man could be no other than General Mackenzie!

"My dear, dear young friend"; and, stooping, he kissed the forehead in his grave, tender fashion.

"So you see I have surprised you this time," laughed Mr. Meredith. "Where were you going gypsy fashion?"

"To the lake, but it doesn't matter." There was no Uncle Robert to help her, so she turned to where Sarah stood blushing and abashed, drew her kindly forward, and gave her an introduction to each one. Dick connected her with the party and Belle Hadden at once.

"Kathie was right to stand up for her," was his mental verdict. "There are plenty of worse-looking and worse-behaved girls in the world."

At this junction Uncle Robert joined them. The whole party entered the parlor. Kathie seated Sarah by herself, and General Mackenzie joined them. Mrs. Alston and Aunt Ruth were summoned, and the conversation became most genial. And when Sarah ventured a remark, frightened half to death the moment afterward, General Mackenzie smiled and answered her. Dick Grayson, anxious to see "what kind of stuff she was made of," came round to the back of the tête-à-tête, and joined the talk.

But the wonders had not all come to an end. The door-bell sounded again, and Hannah ushered two young ladies into the hall. Kathie caught a glimpse of the faces,—Sue Coleman and Emma Lauriston.

They saw Dick and Charlie and the grand soldier beside this plain-looking girl,—some of the Darrells, maybe,—and, accepting Kathie's cordial invitation, joined the group.

"Miss Strong," Kathie said, with sweet, gracious simplicity; and Sue for a moment was abashed. Something in Dick's face announced the truth.

General Mackenzie did not seem to think her beneath him. Just now she was speaking of her cousin's husband and their having Mrs. Gilbert and Willie at home.

"Miss Strong," he said, gravely, "I honor your parents for the act. There will be so many widows and orphans for whom the scanty pension will be as nothing. But the generous-hearted men and women who open their houses to these poor unfortunates pay our dead soldiers a higher compliment, and evince a truer appreciation of their gallant heroism, than if they made grand processions and built marble monuments."

Sarah blushed with embarrassment, and some deep, delicate feeling that she could not have expressed. She had not done it boastingly; indeed, until this moment, she had hardly thought of any special kindliness in the deed.

Actually complimented by General Mackenzie! Lottie Thorne would have died of envy.

Somehow the time ran away very fast. They went out on the lawn in the sunshine, when Sue and Emma discovered that they must go, and the two boys walked with them. Then it came Sarah's turn, as she had promised to be at Cousin Rachel's by five.

"I've had such a lovely, lovely time, Miss Kathie, though I felt dreadfully frightened when your grand company came; but they were all so—so nice that I quite forgot about being an awkward country girl. And isn't General Mackenzie plain and charming?—yes, that is the very word. I don't believe General Grant is a bit nicer. I shall tell mother just what he said. It will help to make up for the girls laughing about her bonnet."

Kathie had a simple gift to send to Baby Lily. Then the girls said a lingering good-by to each other, and Kathie went back to her hero.

"I must take the night return train," he declared, "on account of important business in Washington; but if you will allow me to visit you in the summer, and bring my son, I will accept it as a great favor."

Uncle Robert gave him a most cordial invitation.

"And, my little friend, I must congratulate you that your soldiers did their duty without flinching, even in the most trying moments. It is not our lives only, but our wills, our comforts and pleasures, that we are required to give up. And I am thankful that God watched over them every hour, and sent them back safely at last."

"I think they were braver than I, sometimes," Kathie answered, in a low tone. "After all, I have done so little; I do not deserve the praise." Her voice seemed to lose itself in a tender humility.

"My dear child, I know what you thought of the other warfare. It is a soldier's duty to bring in all the recruits that he can. God will clothe them in his righteousness, and make the path plain before them as they go to do battle with the arch-enemy. He only asks us to lead them to him. You are doing this in a brave, steady manner."

There were tears in Kathie's downcast eyes; but Mr. Meredith's hand stole over her shoulder, and their fingers met with a clasp that was more expressive than words.

"People often look too far off for duties," continued the old soldier. "We are to take up the task that lies before us, even if it does not seem to wear the grace of the heroic. God knows when and where to add the golden fruit. Some day, my little girl, we will have a long talk about these matters."

The soft spring-twilight was falling as they said good-by to General Mackenzie. The grave, kindly eyes rested last of all on the child's simple, earnest face.

Mr. and Mrs. Meredith went also when Uncle Robert drove the General to the station. Kathie sat by the window, peering out into the darkness, long after the sound of the wheels had ceased. One star came out presently.

Shining on and on. The old, old lesson, the child's purpose growing stronger with the passing years, and Kathie prayed that as her soldiers had been faithful, she also might be faithful unto the end.

"It is a sunshiny story of the best things in life. Men and women today need such stories quite as much as the children. It is as quaint as the "Pepper Books" for little folks, but carries a deeper treasure for older people."—Universalist Leader.