enhallow. A well-worn Bible lay on the table, with a
ragged volume of "Hiawatha" and "Bunyan's Holy War." There were no other
books. This form of poverty piteously appealed to him.

"By George!" he exclaimed, "that is sad. The man is book-poor. Ann must
have that library. I will ask him to use mine." As he stood still in
thought, he heard steps, and turned to meet Dr. McGregor.

"Come to see Grace, sir?" said the doctor.

"Yes, I came about a little business, but there seems to be no one in."

"Grace is in bed and pretty sick too."

"What is the matter?"

"Oh, had a baptism in the river--stood too long in the water and got
chilled. It has happened before. Come up and see him--he'll like it."

The Squire hesitated and then followed the doctor. "Who cares for him?"
he asked as they moved up the stairs.

"Oh, his son. Rather a dull lad, but not a bad fellow. He has no
servant--cooks for himself. Ever try it, Squire?"

"I--often. But what a life!"

The stout little clergyman lay on a carved four-post bedstead of old
mahogany, which seemed to hint of better days. The ragged patch-work
quilt over him told too of busy woman-hands long dead. The windows were
closed, the air was sick (as McGregor said later), and there was the
indescribable composite odour which only the sick chamber of poverty
knows. The boy, glad to escape, went out as they entered.

Grace sat up. "Now," he said cheerfully, "this is real good of you to
come and see me! Take a seat, sir."

The chairs were what the doctor once described as non-sitable, and
wabbled as they sat down.

"You are better, I see, Grace," said the doctor. "I fetched up the Squire
for a consultation."

"Yes, I'm near about right." He had none of the common feeling of the
poor that he must excuse his surroundings to these richer visitors, nor
any least embarrassment. "It's good to see some one, Mr. Penhallow."

"I come on a pleasant errand," said Penhallow. "We will talk it over and
then leave you to the doctor. Mrs. Penhallow wants me to roof your
church. I came to say to you that I shall do it with pleasure. You will
lose the use of it for one Sunday at least."

"Thank you, Squire," said Grace simply. "That's real good medicine."

"I will see to it at once."

The doctor opened a window, and Penhallow drew a grateful breath of fresh
air.

"Don't go, sir," said Grace. The Squire sat down again while McGregor
went through his examination of the sick man. Then he too