“I think it has—­everything.  I think it’s nice not being scared of things.  You’re sort of timid ’bout things, aren’t you, Hilary?”

Hilary made a movement to rise.

“Oh, please,” Patience begged.  “It’s going to be such a dreadful long afternoon—­all alone.”

“But I can’t stay, mother would not want—­”

“Just for a minute.  I—­I want to tell you something.  I—­coming back, I met Jane, and I gave her a lift home—­and she did love it so—­she says she’s never ridden before behind a horse that really went as if it enjoyed it as much as she did.  That was some good out of being bad, wasn’t it?  And—­I told you—­ever’n’ ever so long ago, that I was mighty sure Jane’d just be tickled to death to belong to our club.  I think you might ask her—­I don’t see why she shouldn’t like Seeing Winton, same’s we do—­she doesn’t ever have fun—­and she’ll be dead pretty soon.  She’s getting along, Jane is—­it’d make me mad’s anything to have to die ’fore I’d had any fun to speak of.  Jane’s really very good company—­when you draw her out—­she just needs drawing out—­Jane does.  Seems to me, she remembers every funeral and wedding and everything—­that’s ever taken place in Winton.”  Patience stopped, sheer out of breath, but there was an oddly serious look on her little eager face.

Hilary stroked back the tangled red curls.  “Maybe you’re right, Patty; maybe we have been selfish with our good times.  I’ll have to go now, dear.  You—­I may tell mother—­that you are sorry—­truly, Patty?”

Patience nodded.  “But I reckon, it’s a good deal on account of Shirley’s turn,” she explained.

Hilary bit her lip.

“You don’t suppose you could fix that up with mother?  You’re pretty good at fixing things up with mother, Hilary.”

“Since how long?” Hilary laughed, but when she had closed the door, she opened it again to stick her head in.  “I’ll try, Patty, at any rate,” she promised.

She went down-stairs rather thoughtful.  Mrs. Shaw was busy in the study and Pauline had gone out on an errand.  Hilary went up-stairs again, going to sit by one of the side windows in the “new room.”

Over at the church, Sextoness Jane was making ready for the regular weekly prayer meeting; never a service was held in the church that she did not set all in order.  Through one of the open windows, Hilary caught sight of the bunch of flowers on the reading-desk.  Jane had brought them with her from home.  Presently, the old woman herself came to the window to shake her dust-cloth, standing there a moment, leaning a little out, her eyes turned to the parsonage.  Pauline was coming up the path, Shirley and Bell were with her.  They were laughing and talking, the bright young voices making a pleasant break in the quiet of the garden.  It seemed to Hilary, as if she could catch the wistful look in Jane’s faded eyes, a look only half consciously so, as if the old woman reached out vaguely for something that her own youth had been without and that only lately she had come to feel the lack of.