"You be allers shovin' your Christian feelin's down our throats, Susan. But I say this--you ain't been tried as I hev." Mrs. Yellam dealt with this drastically. "I be thankful for God's mercies. I might be less thankful if so be as I mixed up my victuals as you do. Faith in A'mighty God have more to do wi' the stomach than most folks think on. As for being tried--I tend four graves in churchyard to your one." Mrs. Mucklow's small beady eyes softened. "Yas--you've had your sore trials, Susan. And the graves be a credit to 'ee. But I've said it afore, and I say it again, small fam'lies make for righteousness. Keepin' my childern in shoe-leather alone took a deal o' saintliness out o' me. Be that cake?" "I hopes so. Have a slice?" "Your rich cake allers lies heavy on my pore stomach, but 'twould be ungenteel to refuse." Mrs. Yellam cut a large slice. As Mrs. Mucklow consumed it, Mrs. Yellam said impressively: "I'll tell 'ee something, Jane, as betwixt us two. I ain't one to brag unduly, and 'tis true that I be proud o' my Christian feelings. For why? Because, long ago, I come mighty near to losing 'em." Mrs. Mucklow gasped; a piece of cake stuck in her throat. "I never did! Come near to losin' 'em, did 'ee?" "Yas." Mrs. Yellam's voice became solemn. "When I buried my pore husband...." "That was a rare funeral, Susan. Squire and my lady there, flowers from the Hall, a very moving set-out. Was I interrupting of 'ee?" "You was, Jane, but never mind. As I laid my husband to rest, I says to myself: 'The Lard gave and the Lard ha' taken away.'" "Very proper." "The pore man suffered so bad with rheumatics that it seemed God's mercy to take 'un. He'd no pleasure in life onless he were talking of his aches and pains. And allers the misery o' telling me what he'd like to eat an' drink--and couldn't. That fair tore him, and me. He was a rare doer, like Alferd. When he was taken, I did not rebel." Mrs. Mucklow was so interested that she suspended operations with the cake, awaiting the climax of an astounding tale, arrested by a strange expression upon her sister-in-law's face. The pupils of Mrs. Yellam's eyes seemed to contract; her lips became set. She continued very impressively: "When my children died, 'twas different. Seemed to me like as if I was buryin' part o' myself. 'Twere bad enough when the two boys went, but when Lizzie sickened, my own lil' maid, why then, Jane, I did rebel." "And no wonder!" "I watched her slippin' away, and I says, 'No more churchgoin'.'" Mrs. Mucklow repeated the words: "No more churchgoing--! That, from you? I be shaken to my beam ends." Mrs. Yellam went on, in the same cold, incisive voice: