ntroduced, and for a moment she thought the
nurse was going to embrace her too, and wondered if it would be worse
than a rush at hockey; but, fortunately, she was spared the shock, and
instead, was led with the others into a musty parlour.

"I am so pleased to see you," the landlady said, beaming upon them all,
"for few people pass this way now the trams and the railway go the
other route; and since my dear second husband died it has seemed
quieter than ever." Here she shook her head dolefully, and dabbed her
bright, black eyes, where Barbara could see no trace of tears.

"Sundays are the longest days," the woman went on, trying to make her
hopelessly plump and cheery face look pathetic, "because I am so far
away from church. But I read my little newspaper, and say my little
prayer--and mention all your names in it" (which Barbara knew was
impossible, as she had never heard hers before that morning)--"and
think of my little priest."

Mademoiselle Loire nodded to show she was listening, and Marie hastily
stifled a yawn.

"I call him mine," the landlady explained, turning more particularly to
Barbara, "because he married me the last time, and my second husband
the first time."

Barbara thought of the guessing story about "A blind beggar had a son,"
and decided she would try to find out later exactly _whom_ the priest
had married, for the explanation was still going on.

"Of course, therefore, he took an interest in his death," and the
widow's voice grew pathetic. "So he always keeps an eye on me, and
sends me little holy newspapers, over which I always shed a tear. My
second husband always loved his newspaper so--and his coffee."

The word coffee had a magical effect, and her face becoming wreathed in
smiles again, she sprang to her feet in a wonderfully agile way,
considering her size, and ran to a cupboard in the corner, calling
loudly for a maid as she went.

"You must have thirst!" she exclaimed, "terrible thirst and hunger; but
I will give you a sip of a favourite beverage of mine that will restore
you instantly."

And she placed upon the table a black bottle, which proved to be full
of cold coffee sweetened to such a degree that it resembled syrup.
Poor Barbara! She was not very fond of hot coffee _un_sweetened, so
that this cold concoction seemed to her most sickly. But she managed
to drink the whole glassful, except a mouthful of extreme syrup at the
end, though feeling afterwards that she could n