“And you would have had all the trouble of cooking it,” answered the girl. “That only wants warming up.” “But we must succeed to be of use,” urged Mary. “Must God’s servants always remain powerless?”!

“I think God must want you very badly,” she said, “or He wouldn’t have laid so heavy a cross upon you. You will come?” “What have you been doing?” he asked her.

She laughed. But the next moment she was serious. Their meetings became confined, as before, to the little house in North Street. But it really seemed as if the gods, appeased by their submission, had decided to be kind. Hilda was home for the holidays; and her piercing eyes took in the situation at a flash. She appeared to have returned with a new-born and exacting affection for her mother, that astonished almost as much as it delighted the poor lady. Feeling sudden desire for a walk or a bus ride, or to be taken to an entertainment, no one was of any use to Hilda but her mother. Daddy had his silly politics to think and talk about. He must worry them out alone; or with the assistance of Miss Allway. That was what she was there for. Mrs. Phillips, torn between her sense of duty and fear of losing this new happiness, would yield to the child’s coaxing. Often they would be left alone to discuss the nation’s needs uninterrupted. Conscientiously they would apply themselves to the task. Always to find that, sooner or later, they were looking at one another, in silence. “Tell me,” said Joan. “What was my mother like? I can only remember her as more or less of an invalid.”