raiseworthy energy, till
gradually she found that the accumulation of outside interests, like the
cobweb strands which Ederyn twisted, made a rope strong enough to lift
her out of herself and her dungeon of disappointment.

After the novelty of giving music lessons had worn off, it grew to be a
bore. Not the lessons themselves, for Agnes's delight in them never
flagged. It was the tied-up feeling it gave her to remember that those
afternoons were not her own. It happened so often that the afternoons
devoted to Agnes were the ones which of all the week she wanted to have
free, and she had to give up many small pleasures on account of them.

It grew to be a bore, also, calling on some of the people who claimed a
weekly visit. She never tired of Mrs. Bisbee's lively comments on her
neighbours and her interesting tales about them. But there was old Mr.
and Mrs. Apwall, who, with nothing to do but sit on opposite sides of
the fire and look at each other, were said to quarrel like cat and dog.
It mortified Lloyd dreadfully to have them quarrel in her presence, and
have them pour out their grievances for her to decide which was in the
wrong.

She always rose to go at that juncture, flushed and embarrassed, and
vowing inwardly she would never visit them again. But they always
managed to extract a promise before she got to the door that she would
drop in again the next time she was passing.

"Somehow you seem to get husband's mind off himself," Mrs. Apwall would
whisper at parting. "He isn't half so touchy when you've cheered him up
a spell."

And Mr. Apwall would follow her out through the chilly hall to open the
front door, and say, huskily: "Come again, daughter. Come again. Your
visits seem to do the madam a world of good. They give her something to
talk about beside my fancied failings."

So inwardly groaning, Lloyd would go again, painfully alert to keep the
conversation away from subjects that invariably led to disputes. And
inwardly groaning, she went dutifully to the Coburns' at their repeated
requests. The first few times the garrulous old couple were interesting,
but the most thrilling tale grows tiresome when one has heard it a
dozen times. She could scarcely keep from fidgeting in her chair when
the inevitable story of their feud with the Cayn family was begun. They
never left out a single petty detail.

No one will ever know how often the thought of the little rosary in the
sandalwood box helped Lloyd to li