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.

“Was it good?” she gasped, clasping the racquet in both hands and tilting dangerously forward on tiptoe to look.

“Good enough,—­and your game.”

With one accord they ran forward to the net, pausing a second to glance about enquiringly, and then, one impulse guiding, kissed each other ecstatically.

“The very first time I have beaten you, David,” exulted the girl.  “Isn’t everything glorious?” she demanded, with all of youth’s enthusiasm.

“Just glorious,” came the ready answer, with all of mature manhood’s response to girlish youth.  Clasping the slender hands more tightly, he added, laughing, “And I kiss the fingers that defeated me.”