Rodney looked at her long without speaking. “It’s up to me, I see,” he said at last, and Cis accepted what seemed to be a concession to her, although she had no conception of its terms. And then there happened one of those trifling things which so often sway human decisions and actions. Two shabby, dirty little Italians had been looking in at the door, unnoticed by Rodney and Cis. Now there came the landlord, blustering, to chase them away with harsh words, and the children turned to go, the little girl bursting into frightened tears, the boy muttering something, helplessly fierce. Instantly Rodney sprang up and hurried to the door. “Here, come back here! Wait!” he cried. He turned to the landlord. “What harm were the little scraps doing? They may be hungry. Get them a half a pie apiece, and a lot of cake, and nuts, chestnuts! They’d be sure to like chestnuts! And coffee, big cups, plenty of milk and sugar, and some oranges, and put it on my bill,” he ordered. “I won’t have dirty children in here,” cried the landlord. “Dirty! Dirty! Weren’t you ever dirty when you were a small boy? But who asked you to have them in here? There’s room outside on the grass. Good gracious, you have enough left over every meal to feed half a dozen kids. Set ’em up on me!” Rodney ordered impatiently, and soon he and Cis had the satisfaction of seeing each child blissfully struggling to circumvent the contents of the juicy half of an apple pie from attaining its release, backward from the crust, as it was deeply bitten. It was a small thing, yet it set Cicely’s heart glowing with tender, admiring love for this big-hearted, gallant Rodney, who flew to the rescue of the helpless, and gave food and happiness to God’s little ones. Illogically, it seemed to prove Rod right in saying that the Church and fidelity to it did not matter. Had he not left it, and yet he shared with beggars, like a modern version of St. Martin of Tours? “You are great, Rod!” Cis said proudly as she stood with her eyes on the children outside the window, and Rod, helping her on with her coat, watched them also, over her shoulder. He had an uncanny way of reading her thoughts. Now he whispered into her ear, though there was no one near to hear: “You may give up the practices of religion, yet not give up true religion, my Holly! I’m not all bad, though I don’t confess my sins!” CHAPTER IX ATALANTA’S PAUSE “The only defect in this sort of a day is that it has to end so early. It makes things seem thin and flat to pick up and start back on a train leaving a few minutes past three,” grumbled Rodney, putting Cis into her car chair and bestowing himself opposite to her, as they had come up to Pioneer Falls. “Oh, no, it doesn’t!” Cis contradicted him happily. “Don’t be greedy, Rory! Greedy and ungrateful. Think what a beautiful day, and--four, six, ten--it will be more than ten hours long by the time we get home!”