I found how good at heart they were despite
their peculiarities and foibles.

"That's what I want you to do this winter, Lloyd. Join the little choir,
and meet with the King's Daughters, and learn to know these interesting
neighbours of yours. And," she added, smiling, "I promise you that
you'll find all the cobwebs you need to help haul you out of your
dungeon."

"Oh, Miss Allison!" exclaimed Lloyd, looking horrified at the thought.
"_I_ couldn't sing in the choir and join the King's Daughtahs and all
that. They're all at least twice as old as I am, and some of them even
moah."

"Yes, you can," insisted Miss Allison. "We need your voice in the choir,
and you need the new interest these things would bring into your life.
So don't say no until after you've given my game a trial. The King's
Daughters' Circle is to meet here this afternoon, and I want you to help
me. I'm going to serve hot chocolate and wafers, and, as long as it is
such a cold, blowy day, I believe I'll add some nut sandwiches to make
the refreshments a little more substantial."

Privately, Lloyd looked forward to the afternoon as something stupid
which she must face cheerfully for Miss Allison's sake, but she found
her interest aroused with the first arrival. It was Libbie Simms, whom
she had known all her life, in a way, for she could scarcely recall a
Sabbath when she had not looked across at the dull, homely face in the
opposite pew, and pitied her because of her queer nose and
mouse-coloured hair. In the same way she had known Miss McGill, who came
with Libbie. She had simply been one of the congregation who had claimed
her attention for a moment each week, as she minced down the aisle like
an animated rainbow. All she knew about Miss McGill was that she usually
wore so many shades of purple and pink and blue that the clashing
colours set one's teeth on edge.

But in five minutes Lloyd had forgotten their peculiarities of feature
and dress, and was listening with interest to their account of a call
they had just made in Rollington. They had been to see a poor
washerwoman who had five children to support. The youngest, a baby who
had fits, was very ill, about to die. At the mention of Mrs. Crisp,
Lloyd recalled the forlorn little woman in a wispy crepe veil, who had
enlisted her sympathy to such an extent one Thanksgiving Day that she
and Betty had walked over to Rollington from the Seminary to carry the
greater part of the turkey and fruit tha