“We must remember how indispensable Mrs. Grimes is at a time like this, Herbert,” said Mrs. Sage, with a yawn. “You won’t have to remember,” blurted out Mr. Sikes. “Serepty’ll do the remembering.” “I adore babies, don’t you, Mrs. Gooch?” “Yes, indeed. Ah—I—how many children have you, Mrs. Sage?” “On pleasant Sundays I should say as many as twenty-five. They shrink quite a bit if the weather’s bad.” “Good gracious me!” “She means her Sunday-school class,” explained Mr. Sage hurriedly. He had the worried manner of one who never knows what is coming next. His wife looked up into his face and smiled—a lovely, good-humored smile that was slowly transformed into a mischievous grimace. “I’m always making breaks, am I not, Herby dear? It’s a terrible strain, Mr. Gooch, being a parson’s wife. I sometimes wish that Herbert—I mean Mr. Sage—had been a policeman or a bartender or something like that.” “Umph!” grunted Mr. Gooch. “Well, I suppose it ain’t as hard to live up to a policeman or a bartender as it is to live up to a minister of the gospel,” said Mrs. Gooch, feeling of the tip of her nose as she turned away from the stove. Mr. Sikes and Mr. Link, having something of a private nature to say to each other, had retired to a position near the door, which by design or accident was pretty thoroughly blocked by their heavy figures. Mrs. Gooch sniffed unnecessarily. “Yes,” said Mrs. Sage over her shoulder; “you’re right, Mrs. Gooch. Live and learn is my motto.” She winked at her husband. “My dear Josephine!” exclaimed Mr. Sage reproachfully. “Say, Ida,” burst out Mr. Gooch, who had been fretting almost audibly, “I’m getting tired of hanging around here waiting for Oliver. Get your things on. We’re going home.” “Oh, my dear friend,” cried the pastor, “you surely are not going away without saying good-by to Brother Baxter. He will—” “I’m going away without even saying howdy-do to him,” rasped Mr. Gooch. “Where are your overshoes, Ida?” At this juncture the sitting-room door was opened, somewhat to the confusion of the two citizens of Rumley, and a small, plump, middle-aged woman, bearing a couple of blankets in her arms, entered the room. “Hello, Serepty!” cried Mr. Link. “Everything all right?” Mrs. Grimes surveyed the group. Her pleasant, wholesome face was beaming. Her gaze rested upon the astonishing hat of Mrs. Sage. “Why, how do you do, Sister Sage. How nice of you to come out on a night like this. Mary will be pleased to hear you’ve been here. Oh, yes, Silas, everything is all right. You can go home. Nobody is going to die. How do you do, Mr. Sage. What a terrible night for you to be out, with that wretched throat of yours. If you’ll wait till I take these blankets out to warm them in the kitchen I will wrap a piece of flannel and a strip of bacon around your throat. It’s the best—”