Jeff grinned ruefully. For the first time since its founding, Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., had reached a blind end. "Something for Everyone," was one of its numerous slogans. But he did not have anything for Granny Wilson and he was honest about it. "Granny, I don't believe I can offer you a thing." "Oh, come now! You must have somethin'!" "But I haven't." "Now, Jeff, you jest open that pack and give me a look for myself." "I'll do that much." Jeff laid his pack on the table and opened every compartment. Granny reached for a skein of gray yarn. She tested it with her fingers, murmured, "Poorly, poorly," and handed it back. Granny ignored the bright ribbons, had no time whatever for the knickknacks, lingered over a packet of needles, and her eyes were accusing when she gave them back. "Young man, you are a poor shakes of a peddler." "I tried to tell you I hadn't anything you'd want." "You should have somethin' to please a poor old woman." "I know. If I had anything good enough for you--Oh, darn!" A skein of yarn tumbled out of the pack and caught on a buckle. Jeff reached through the slit for one of the many-bladed knives, opened the scissors, and carefully snipped the tangled wool off. Granny clapped joyful hands. "I knew it! I knew it! Give me that." Jeff handed her the knife. Granny's eyes shone. "Just the thing!" she cried ecstatically. "Just what I need! My eyes ain't what they used to be. I missed two shots at runnin' bucks last fall and I'm forever mislayin' my necessaries. 'Twould be handy to have so many in one piece. Cash or swap?" Jeff said recklessly, "Let's call it a gift, Granny." "But," she was honestly troubled, "you can't give me aught that cost you dear." "Yes I can." "Not by my leave," she said firmly. "It's only right that a body gets his worth." "I'll swap even for a look at some of your other tapestries." "My what?" "Your cloth pictures, like the cat." "Land! I'll get some." She bounced from her chair, bustled into an adjoining room, and they heard her open a trunk. A moment later she was back with two tapestries under her arm. She spread one, a yard long by about twenty inches wide, and Jeff gasped. It was _The Last Supper_, but instead of following conventional patterns, Granny had drawn inspiration from the life around her. Jesus and His disciples were seated at a wooden table that was innocent of any adornment or finery whatsoever, but the table was so finely done that a sliver thrusting out from it seemed both real and symbolic. There was an air of dignity that rose above mere human dignity, and the dyes had been applied with a touch so delicate that holy light seemed to emanate from the picture. Its message was one of hope. Judas was not to be abandoned. "Do you like it?" Granny asked. "It--" Jeff was at a loss for words. "It's wonderful!" "Preacher Skiles thinks the Lord ain't right." "Preacher Skiles assumes a great deal of responsibility."