Mrs. Ford was a trifle, just a trifle jealous. Lucy was not at all in the habit of interfering with her prerogative; but she did not like it. The “Pilgrim’s Progress” she felt was much better entertainment on a Sunday night for any child. “Oh, but this was not a person that the mayors and the magistrates knew. Listen, Jock, his name was Satan. Now, do you know who that great strong man was?” “I thought as much, and it’s all an allegory,” said Jock, who was _blasé_ and tired of parables. “I like a story best when it doesn’t mean anything; but go on, Lucy, all the same.” “I don’t think it’s an allegory. Katie Russell read it out of a book about the saints. I believe it is a true story, only very, very long ago; many things happened long ago that don’t happen now. I don’t suppose the queen has a big giant like Christopher in all her armies; but still there was once a Christopher, Jock.” Jock accepted the explanation with a little wave of his hand. He was glad, very glad, especially on Sunday, of anything new, but at the same time he was critical, and at the first suggestion of an allegory stood on his guard. “Well,” said Lucy, resuming, “when Christopher had wandered about for a long time he met with a band of knights and their servants, traveling about as they used to do in those days, and at their head there was one all in black armor, with a helmet covering his head and his face.” “You mean, I suppose,” said Jock, somewhat cynically, “with his visor down.” “I suppose so,” said Lucy, a little confused, “but you know I am not so clever about these things as you are. I’m afraid you don’t care about my story, Jock.” “Oh, yes, I care about it; but unless there were enemies about, and he was afraid, he never would have had his visor down; and if he were afraid, Christopher would have known he couldn’t be much; but I like your story all the same,” Jock added, with great politeness; and he liked the _rôle_ of critic, which was novel, too. “He did not want to show his face,” said Lucy, considerably cowed, “because if people had seen him it would have been known what kind of a being he was, and he looked a very great prince with all his followers round him. So when Christopher heard that this was Satan he went to him and offered his service, and he was one of his soldiers for a long time, I can’t tell how long, but he did not like it at all, Jock, they did so many cruel things. At last one day, one very hot day in summer, they were all marching along, and there were two roads to the place where they were going; one road led through a wood, and that was a pleasant shady way, and the other was the high road, which was dusty and scorching, and not a bit of shelter; and you may suppose how astonished Christopher was when the captain refused to go by the pleasant way, though it was the shortest, too.” “What was that for?” said Jock, excited mildly by an incident which he had not foreseen.