her gentle lady life, was likewise ennobled by a
gratitude which transformed her. Always a clear and beautiful soul, she
gave out new lights of character like a jewel in the sun. And she also
thought of Sydney as distinct from his physical self. The consciousness
of the two human beings, one of the other, was a consciousness as of two
wonderful lines of good and beauty, moving for ever parallel, separate,
and inseparable in an eternal harmony of spirit.

CORONATION

JIM BENNET had never married. He had passed middle life, and possessed
considerable property. Susan Adkins kept house for him. She was a
widow and a very distant relative. Jim had two nieces, his brother's
daughters. One, Alma Beecher, was married; the other, Amanda, was not.
The nieces had naively grasping views concerning their uncle and his
property. They stated freely that they considered him unable to care for
it; that a guardian should be appointed and the property be theirs at
once. They consulted Lawyer Thomas Hopkinson with regard to it; they
discoursed at length upon what they claimed to be an idiosyncrasy of
Jim's, denoting failing mental powers.

"He keeps a perfect slew of cats, and has a coal fire for them in the
woodshed all winter," said Amanda.

"Why in thunder shouldn't he keep a fire in the woodshed if he wants
to?" demanded Hopkinson. "I know of no law against it. And there isn't a
law in the country regulating the number of cats a man can keep." Thomas
Hopkinson, who was an old friend of Jim's, gave his prominent chin an
upward jerk as he sat in his office arm-chair before his clients.

"There is something besides cats," said Alma

"What?"

"He talks to himself."

"What in creation do you expect the poor man to do? He can't talk to
Susan Adkins about a blessed thing except tidies and pincushions. That
woman hasn't a thought in her mind outside her soul's salvation and
fancy-work. Jim has to talk once in a while to keep himself a man. What
if he does talk to himself? I talk to myself. Next thing you will want
to be appointed guardian over me, Amanda."

Hopkinson was a bachelor, and Amanda flushed angrily.

"He wasn't what I call even gentlemanly," she told Alma, when the two
were on their way home.

"I suppose Tom Hopkinson thought you were setting your cap at him,"
retorted Alma. She relished the dignity of her married state, and
enjoyed giving her spinster sister little claws when occasion called.
However, Amanda had