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 

 

 

 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. 

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