oke?" The doctor stared up at her. "Joke? Gad, I'd like to believe
it!" He turned to Alicia and me, politely: "Miss Hopkins," he
informed us, "moves among us clothed in white samite. She is our
center of culture; Hyndsville revolves around her."

He went on putting a bulb in the place prepared for it. His eyebrows
twitched slightly, but his mouth was smileless; Miss Hopkins was
smiling, and not at all displeased. Mrs. Haile was bland and blank,
as befits a minister's wife. Alicia's eyes were downcast, but a
wicked dimple came and went in her cheek. She looked ravishingly
pretty, the bright hair breaking into curls about her temples, her
young face colored like a rose. I do not blame Doctor Richard
Geddes for stopping in his work to stare at her with unabashed
pleasure, but I do not think it was diplomatic.

Mrs. Haile apologized for calling when we were so very busy. They
had just stopped in passing, because they were reorganizing their
missionary society and wanted to see if they couldn't interest us in
the good work. Their day-school in Mozambique needed another
teacher, and their hospital in Bechuanaland had to have more beds.

Doctor Geddes got to his feet, slapped our garden soil from his
knees, and shook his tawny mane. His eyes were no longer sweet.

"Miss Smith and Miss Gaines, thank you for the opportunity of
playing in the sand in pleasant company. Mrs. Haile, Miss Hopkins, I
go to attend some home-grown niggers who of course don't need a
hospital, nor even a decent school, in our Christian midst. Ladies,
good afternoon!" He made a fleering motion of the hand and was gone.
Mrs. Haile and Miss Hopkins smiled indulgently. Evidently, Doctor
Geddes was one brother they were willing to forgive though he
offended them until seventy times seven.

Alicia and Miss Martha Hopkins walked down the garden path together
and Mrs. Haile fell into step with me. In a low voice she thanked
me, hurriedly, for having dropped that dreadful suit. And were
we--she hesitated--were we going to be regular communicants?

I didn't want to go to St. Polycarp's any more, and it was on the
tip of my tongue to give a politely evasive reply, when our eyes met
and held each other. I saw the naked truth in hers--the pitiful
truth of the slim, poor, aristocratic little parish; the old church
overtaken and surpassed by its more modern and middle-class rivals;
and the minister's family struggling along on a salary that would
have made a hod-