Mary "red
up" her house for her when her rheumatism was bad. She
cooked for her, she sang and read for her. Above all
things, Mary was her friend, and no one who has a friend
can be altogether at war with the world.
One evening when Mary was reading the "Pilgrim's Progress"
to her, the Reverend Hugh Grantley came in and begged to
be let stay and enjoy the reading, too. He said Miss
Barner's voice seemed to take the tangles out of his
brain, whereupon Mrs. McGuire winked at herself.
That night she obligingly fell asleep just where Christian
resolved to press on to the Heavenly City at all costs,
and Mistrust and Timorous ran down the hill.
After that the minister came regularly, and Mrs. McGuire,
though she complained to herself that it was hard to lose
so much of the reading, fell asleep each night, and snored
loudly. She said she had been young herself once, and
guessed she knew how it was with young folks. Just hoped
he was good enough for Mary, that was all; men were such
deceivers--they were all smooth as silk, until it came
to livin' with 'em, and then she shook her head grimly,
thinking no doubt of the vagaries of the late McGuire.
The Reverend Hugh Grantley walked up and down the floor
of his study in deep meditation. But his thoughts were
not on his Sunday sermon nor yet on the topic for the
young people's meeting, though they were serious enough
by the set of his jaw.
His friend Clay had just left him.
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