ore
our smiling Heavenly Father, when something either moral or immoral
stiffened in me, and I startled even myself with these words, that
seemed to come of their own accord out of my mouth:

"I'll do nothing of the kind!"

I was oblivious to the horrified gaze of my companions. I felt some
spirit strengthen me and give me courage. I had a quick tear-blinded
vision of the years behind me, and of the figure I made walking always
down the aisle of some church by William in my dismal black dress, or
sitting at a funeral or even at a feast, always in that ugly black
garment.

"Sister Shaller," I said, looking steadily at her as a child looks at
another child who is trying to take some cherished plaything from it,
"you can do as you please about sending that missionary. You are
perfectly able to do without new Easter clothes. As for me, I have
promised the Lord to dress better, more like a human being and less
like a woman-raven, and I intend to do it. I am tired of sitting in
retired corners at parties and receptions because I look as if I
belonged to a funeral. It is a matter of conscience with me, just as
the missionary is with you."

I never told William what I had done. It was one of those good works
that he could not have measured or appreciated. And I never knew
whether Sister Shaller sent her missionary or not. She was a good
woman and perfectly capable of doing it. But the other women were as
grateful as if I had rescued their Easter things from a highwayman.

This was the only place William ever served where the people of the
world flocked in and filled his church. I used to think maybe it was a
way they had of returning my social friendliness to them. I accepted
all of their invitations I dared to accept, and they accepted all of
William's. They not only crowded in to hear him preach, they were
singularly amiable about coming up to the altar if he extended an
invitation to penitents who were sorry for their sins. The trouble
with those people was the exceedingly small number of things they would
admit were sins. But it made no difference in William's exhortations
as sometimes he bent above the gayly flowered heads in his altar. It
was always

"Give up every thing and follow Christ."

And if he did them no good certainly he did them no harm.

CHAPTER XII

THE CHEERFUL LITTLE DOG THAT LED THE BLIND MAN

The fact that I had a worldly mind was in some ways very fortunate for
Willi