"Oh, like you," said Derrice, innocently. "No, I have not that honour." "I wish you'd join our church," said the widow and her daughter in a breath. "Perhaps I will some day, if I stay here long enough," said Derrice, amiably. "We've got such a good preacher," said the younger woman, enthusiastically. "Is it Mr. Huntington?" asked Derrice. "Yes; did any one tell you about his conversion?" "No, not yet." "I wonder that you haven't, sister," said the widow, turning to Mrs. Prymmer, "but I suppose you haven't had time to tell everything yet. Oh, it was such a remarkable thing. He was a wild young fellow. He had a friend called Denham--" "Yes, Mr. John Denham, I have met him," said Derrice. The little widow's eyes flashed curiously, but she would not stop to ask questions now. She would tell her story first. "This Mr. Denham was always with him. They were two reckless, careless, godless, swearing, drinking young men--" "Oh, not as bad as that," said Derrice, mildly. "My dear, people has told us--Well, they was going on their ways of sin when one day there come a change. They was in a railroad accident, and poor Mr. Denham he was torn almost to pieces. He lived only a little while, but his mother come to him, and before he died he repented of his wild ways, he gave his heart to his Maker, and he begged Mr. Huntington to do the same. He was shocked most to death. After he buried his friend, he did change. He went to a theological seminary and studied for a while; then Mr. Negus died, and he was supplying for this church and we called him. Such sermons as he used to preach,--the church would be crowded twice a day and wagons standing all the way down to the stables. Now the excitement's wearing away, because he's been with us for some time, but we had a powerful revival, didn't we, sister?" and she appealed to Mrs. Prymmer. "Thank the Lord, yes,--ninety-five baptisms." Derrice's face had grown white. "You say that Mr. Denham is dead?" "Yes, dear, dead and buried. Was he a friend of yours?" "Scarcely a friend; I did not know him as well as I knew Mr. Huntington. He was rather an acquaintance." The eyeglass fell from under Derrice's brow. She seemed disinclined to talk, and her visitors rose to take leave. "You'll come see us, dear?" said the widow. "Certainly; where do you live?" "Here, dear, is a card,--Mrs. James, 38 Pownall." "Pownall; is it street, avenue, square--?" "Street, dear, always understood. Good-bye. I'm real glad to make your acquaintance," and squeezing her hand until the girl winced with pain, and recovered only to wince again under an alarming muscular pressure from the carpenter's bride, the little widow reluctantly tore herself away.