"Mere sensual gratification, Evadne," said Mr. Everidge, as he replenished his plate with some dainty pickings, "is not the true aim of life. I consider it a high honor that the Professor should consent to devote a month of his valuable time to my edification, for he is getting to be quite a lion in the literary world. You had better have your chamber prepared for his occupancy, Marthe. As I remember him at college he had a fondness amounting almost to a craze for rooms with a western aspect." Joanna came in to announce the arrival of a visitor whom Evadne had already learned to dread on account of her continual depression. "Oh, Aunt Marthe!" she exclaimed, "must you waste this beautiful afternoon listening to her dolorosities. I wanted you to go for a drive!" "You go, dearie, and take Penelope Riggs. It will be a treat to her and you ought to be out in the open air as much as possible." Evadne went out on the veranda. Through the open window she could hear the visitor's ceaseless monotone of complaint mingled with the soft notes of Mrs. Everidge's cheery sympathy. "Oh, dearest," she murmured, "if you had seen this beautiful life, you would have known that there is no sham in the religion of Jesus!" She waited long, in the hope that Mrs. Everidge would be able to accompany her, then she started for the Eggs cottage. She found the old lady alone. "Where is Penelope, Mrs. Riggs?" "Oh, skykin' round ez usual," was the peevish response. "It's church work this time. When I wuz young, folks got along 'thout sech an everlastin' sight uv meetins, but nowadays there's Convenshuns, an' Auxils an' Committees, an' the land knows what, till a body's clean distracted. Fer my part I hate ter see wimmen a' wallerin' round in the mud till it takes 'em the best part uv the next day ter git their skirts clean." "But there is no mud now, Mrs. Riggs," laughed Evadne. "Land alive, child! There will be sometime. In my day folks used ter stay ter hum an' mind their childern, but now they've all took ter soarin' an' it don't matter how many ends they leave flyin' loose behind 'era." "But Penelope has no children to mind, Mrs. Riggs." "Land alive! She hez me, an' I oughter be more ter her than a duzzen childern,--but she ain't got no proper feelin's, Penel ain't. When I'm a' lyin' in my coffin she'll give her eyes ter hev the chance ter rub my rheumatiz, an' run for hot bottles an' flannels an' ginger tea. It's an ongrateful world but I allcrs sez there ain't no use complainin'; it's what we've got ter expec',--triberlation an' anguish an' mournin' an' woe. It's good enuff fer us too. Sech wurms ez we be!" "Well, Evadne, how do you do, child? I'm dretful glad to see you," and Penelope, breezy and keen as a March wind, came bustling into the room. "Why, yes, I'm well, child, if it wasn't for bein' so tumbled about in my mind." "What has tumbled you, Penelope?" asked Evadne with a merry laugh.