ve her, it did help when she
could see every night a visible token that she had tried to live that
'day through unselfishly and well,--that she had kept tryst with the
duty of cheerfulness which we all owe the world.

[Illustration: "SHE RODE OVER TO ROLLINGTON"]

But not all her pearls were earned as easily as the one that marked her
efforts for Agnes. One day, when she rode over to Rollington with some
illustrated magazines for the Crisp children, she was met by an
announcement from Minnie, the oldest one, who had charge of the family
in her mother's absence.

"Mis' Perkins said I was to tell you she didn't see why folks passed her
by when she liked wine jelly and good things just as well as some other
people she knew."

"Who is Mrs. Perkins?" asked Lloyd, astonished by such a message.

Minnie nodded her towhead toward a weather-beaten house of two rooms
across the street. "She lives over there. She's sick most of the time.
She saw you cooking in our kitchen that day that you came and got
dinner, and ma sent her over a piece of the pie you made, and she's been
sort of sniffy ever since, because nobody does such things for her."

Minnie seemed so anxious that Lloyd should include Mrs. Perkins in her
visit that finally Lloyd agreed to be escorted over to see her. Wrapping
the baby in a shawl, and staggering along under its weight, Minnie
ordered the other children to stay where they were, and led the way
across the street.

The tilt of Lloyd's dainty nose, as she went in, said more plainly than
words, "Poah white trash!" For the house had a stuffy smell of liniment
and bacon grease. An old woman came forward to meet them in her stocking
feet and a dirty woollen wrapper. Her uncombed gray hair straggled
around her ears, and her wrinkled face was unwashed and grimy. Lloyd was
thankful that she did not offer to shake hands. She sat down on the edge
of a chair, breathing the stuffy air as sparingly as possible.

She had always been taught that old age must be respected, no matter how
unlovely, and as Mrs. Perkins counted her aches and pains in a weak,
whining voice, pity got the better of Lloyd's disgust. She began to feel
sorry for this poor old creature, for whom no one else seemed to have
any sympathy. She complained bitterly of her neighbours and the
church-members who professed to be so charitable, but who left her to
suffer.

Then she praised the lemon pie that Lloyd had made, until Lloyd gladly
promised to