invitation,
but rising quietly she went into the inner office and took the chair
vacated by the farmer. Bascom made a pretense of writing, in silence,
with his back towards her, during which interval Hepsey waited
patiently. Then, looking up with the expression of a deaf-mute, he
asked colorlessly:

"Well, Mrs. Burke, what may I do for you?"

"You can do nothing for me--but you can and must do something for the
Maxwells," she replied firmly but quietly.

"Don't you think it would be better to let Maxwell take care of his
own affairs?"

"Yes, most certainly, if he were in a position to do so. But you know
that the clergy are a long-sufferin' lot, more's the pity; they'll
endure almost anythin' rather than complain. That's why you and others
take advantage of them."

"Ah, but an earnest minister of the Gospel does not look for the
loaves and fishes of his calling."

"I shouldn't think he would. I hate fish, myself; but Maxwell has a
perfect right to look for the honest fulfillment of a contract made
between you and him. Didn't I hear you tell that farmer that he was a
dum fool if he thought that a contract made between two parties is not
legally binding, and that if you fulfilled your part he must pay for
your services or you would sue him? Do you suppose that a contract
with a carpenter or a plumber or a mason is binding, while a contract
with a clergyman is not? What is the matter with you, anyway?"

Bascom made no reply, but turned his back towards Hepsey and started
to write. She resumed:

"Donald Maxwell's salary is goin' to be paid him in full within the
next two weeks or----"

Mrs. Burke came to a sudden silence, and after a moment or two Bascom
turned around and inquired sarcastically:

"Or what?"

Hepsey continued to knit in silence for a while, her face working in
her effort to gain control of herself and speak calmly.

"Now see here, Sylvester Bascom: I didn't come here to have a scene
with you, and if I knit like I was fussed, you must excuse me."

Her needles had been flashing lightning, and truth to tell, Bascom,
for all he dreaded Hepsey's sharp tongue as nothing else in Durford,
had been unable to keep his eyes off those angry bits of sparkling
steel. Suddenly they stopped--dead. The knitting fell into Hepsey's
lap, and she sat forward--a pair of kindly, moist eyes searching the
depths of Bascom's, as he looked up at her. Her voice dropped to a
lower tone as she continued:

"There's be