“And I will never forget it,” she said, through her tears. “I love you; I know you are a lady, and not used to this sort of thing, and only come to do us good; and it was my fault that you were set on that time; but you don’t know how I will love you!” “And you will really be my friend, Fanny, and help me? Ah, then we will make our Grove more like Paradise than it has ever been before! Do you think you could persuade the boys of the Grove to come and spend their evenings with me, and will you help me entertain them, and see that they have a real good time? I want to get them out of the streets, and teach them how to enjoy better things than pitch-and-toss, and swearing and cheating. But, of course, they will not come if my evenings are dull. I mean them to be very lively; and as you know what sort of things they like, your aid will be invaluable.” “Yes, I will come with pleasure. I know all the boys in the court, and believe I could persuade them, one and all, to spend their evenings with us; that is, if we make it worth their while. I won’t quite exactly promise every evening until I have talked it over with my mother. I didn’t use to think so much of my mother as I do now; but I’ve thought a deal about her lately, and I’m going to make things better for mother. There ain’t no sense in trying to do other people good, and neglecting your own mother, is there?” What made the Basket Woman blush and look conscience-smitten and uncomfortable? She did not speak for a moment or two, and then, in a faltering voice, she said: “You are quite right, Fanny; ask your mother, and I will ask mine.” CHAPTER XI. OUR PARISH. The harvest was over, and it had been a good one. The usual festivities were held, and were more really joyous than such occasions frequently are. Already in many parts of the country the true leaders of the people were looking forward to the winter, not only in preparation, but with resolution, and were manfully determined that, if they could not prevent the usual sin, they would prevent some of the attendant misery of the days of cold and gloom. Arthur Knight was doing the work of two or three men. His brain was busy in regard to his own people; but whenever and wherever it was possible he was preaching his Gospel of Christian unity for the world’s good. By the seaside, in the mission hall, in drawing-rooms, in chapels by the dozen he was entreating, in words made eloquent by feeling, that the Church would no longer mourn over the evils of the world, but would set itself by one great united effort to remedy them. And, happily, Knight was only one; there were a dozen other men saying and writing the same thing.