"Oh, I was only thinking, I guessed Peace Maythorne's name was made in
heaven. It so exactly suits her."

After that, the cripple's little quiet room became one of the places Gypsy
loved best in Yorkbury.

Two or three weeks after that Mrs. Littlejohn, who had been gaining
rapidly in strength and good temper under Mrs. Breynton's wise and kindly
care, took it into her head one morning, when she was alone, to walk
across the room, and look out of the window. The weakened limb was not in
a fit state to be used at all, and the shock given to it was very great.
Inflammation set in, and fever, and the doctor shook his head, and asked
if the old woman had any friends living anywhere; if so, they had better
be sent for. But the poor creature seemed to be desolate enough; declared
she had no relatives, and was glad of it; she only wanted to be let alone,
and she should get well fast enough.

She never said that when Mrs. Breynton was in the room. Gypsy went down
one evening with her mother, to help her carry a bundle of fresh
bed-clothing, and she was astonished at the gentleness which had crept
into the old withered face and peevish voice. Mrs. Littlejohn called her
up to the bed, just as she started to go.

"I say, little gal, I told ye a fib the day ye fust come. I did have a
dinner, though it war a terrible measly one--Mrs. Breynton, marm!"

Mrs. Breynton stepped up to her.

"What was that ye read t'other day, 'bout liars not goin'clock into the
kingdom of heaven?--I 'most forgot."

Gypsy crept out, softly. She was wondering how her mother had managed her
charity to this fretful old woman so wisely, that her words, unfitly
spoken, were becoming a trouble to herself, and her hours of increasing
pain turned into hours of late, faint repentance. Perhaps the charm lay in
a certain old book, dog-eared and worn, and dusty from long disuse on the
cupboard shelf. This little book Mrs. Breynton had found, and she had read
in it many times, until that painful groaning ceased.

And so one night it chanced that the old yellow cat sat blinking at the
light, and the yellow, furrowed face turned over on the pillow and smiled,
and lay still. The light burned out, and the morning came; the cat jumped
purring upon the bed, and seeing what was there, curled up by it, with a
mournful mewing cry.

"Peace Maythorne says," said Gypsy, "that if Mrs. Littlejohn went to
heaven, she will be so happy _to find she doesn't scold_! Isn't it