they lodged you?"

"I have secured an apartment with Mary Magdalene--in her house, I mean!"
said Jimmie, straightening up.

Bee and I shrieked. Jimmie edged toward the door.

"Jimmie!" said his wife in horror. "_Please_ don't--"

"Don't what?"

His wife rose from her chair and turned away.

"Don't what?" he repeated.

"I was only going to say," said Mrs. Jimmie, "don't make a joke of
every--"

"Well, if you don't want me to go there, I'll trade places with the
scribe and put _her_ with the lady who is generally represented
reclining on the ground in a blue dress improving her mind by reading.
Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if I lodged with Judas?"

"No, indeed! and put _her_ with Mary Magdalene?" said Mrs. Jimmie, whose
serious turn of mind was as a well-spring in a thirsty land to Jimmie.

"My dear," he said, impressively, with his hand on the door-knob. "Two
things seem to have escaped your mind. One is that this is only
play-acting, and the other is that Mary Magdalene, when history let go
of her, was a reformed character anyway."

The door slammed. We both looked expectantly at Mrs. Jimmie. Her
apologies for Jimmie's most delicious impertinences are so sincere and
her sense of humour so absolutely wanting that we love her almost as
dearly as we love Jimmie.

Mrs. Jimmie, large, placid, fair and beautiful as a Madonna, rose and
looked doubtfully at us after Jimmie had fled.

"You mustn't mind his--what he said or implied," she said, the colour
again rising in her creamy cheeks. "Jimmie never realises how things
will sound, or I think he wouldn't--or I don't know--" She hesitated
between her desire to clear Jimmie and her absolute truthfulness. She
changed the conversation by coming over to me and laying her hand
tenderly on my hair.

"You are _sure_, dear, that you don't mind lodging with Judas Iscariot?"

Bee stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth and politely turned her
back. I bit my lip. It hurts her feelings to be laughed at.

"Not a bit, Mrs. Jimmie. I shall love it."

"Because I was going to say that if you did, I would gladly exchange
with you, and you could lodge with Mary."

"Mrs. Jimmie," I said, "you are an angel. That's what you are."

"And now," said Bee, cheerfully, who hates sentiment, "let's pack, for
we leave at noon."

I don't apologise for Jimmie's ribald conversation, because many people,
until they have seen the Passion Play, make frivolous remarks, which
wou