"Very encouraging, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Flint, as she glanced about the room and noticed that there was dust on the family Bible. Mrs. Tweedie knew it was there. She also knew that Mrs. Flint knew, and was annoyed. "I have heard that your son William has returned," observed Mrs. Tweedie, hoping to divert Mrs. Flint's mind from the dusty Bible to a subject that could not be wholly agreeable to the minister's wife, if the rumours which had reached Mrs. Tweedie were founded on fact. "Yes, college life is _so_ trying for a young man at William's critical age. He seems to have broken down completely," sadly replied the fond mamma of one hundred and eighty pounds of beef, bone, and deviltry. "Indeed! I am very sorry to hear of his condition, but rejoiced to know that I have been incorrectly informed concerning his reason for leaving college," said Mrs. Tweedie. "You must be very happy with him at home again after such a long absence." "Yes," replied Mrs. Flint, telling one of those weak little lies that we all indulge in when it seems to be really necessary. Mrs. Tweedie's feminine instinct told her the truth, and she generously dropped William for something more closely related to the club idea. "Oh, I have invited Mrs. Stout to join. What do you think of her?" she asked, suddenly. "She does not attend our church--of course that would make no difference, but--" The minister's wife hesitated, and raised her eyes significantly. "Her grammar is shocking--she speaks so plainly," said Mrs. Tweedie, her nose in air. "And her manners and dress are--" "Extraordinary," prompted Mrs. Flint. "The very word." "She has, probably, admirable qualities, but--" "No doubt, except--there's the bell!" And then Mrs. Tweedie added in a whisper, "I would not have this repeated for worlds." Just then Mrs. Stout entered the room unannounced. "My dear Mrs. Stout, good morning," said Mrs. Tweedie. "We were just this moment speaking of you." "Was you now?" smilingly responded Mrs. Stout, as she sat down in the largest chair in the room and began fanning herself with a photograph that she took from a table. "How d'y do, Mis' Flint. I ain't set eyes on you since our Fast Day union meetin'. How's the parson? I heard he was feelin' kinder streaked." "Quite well, thank you," replied Mrs. Flint, rather coldly. Mrs. Stout was the wife of Peter Stout, grocer, and the mother of three boys. Though her grammar, manners, and dress did not reach to Mrs. Tweedie's lofty ideals, she had many friends in Manville among those who did not pretend to be more than they were. Her family--of course she had a father and mother, but her grandfathers and grandmothers--no one had ever taken the pains to draw the likeness of a tree and write on its naked branches the names of her ancestors. Despite the lack of grandfathers and grandmothers, she had a large measure of common sense, and a big heart.