nder his chin, thinking. The room
was not artistic but rather nondescript, the furniture cheap or rather
tasteless in design. Didn't Divine Mind know any better than to present
its representatives in such a guise as this? Could a person called to
assist in representing the majesty of God on earth be left so
unintelligent artistically as to live in a house like this? Surely this
was a poor manifestation of Divinity, but----

Mrs. Johns came--a short, stout, homely woman, gray, wrinkled, dowdy in
her clothing, a small wen on one side of her mouth, a nose slightly too
big to be pleasing--all mortal deficiencies as to appearance highly
emphasized, and looking like an old print of Mrs. Micawber that he had
seen somewhere. She had on a black skirt good as to material, but
shapeless, commonplace, and a dark blue-gray waist. Her eye was clear
and gray though, he noticed, and she had a pleasing smile.

"This is Mr. Witla, I believe," she said, coming across the room to him,
for he had got into a corner near the window, and speaking with an
accent which sounded a little Scotch. "I'm so glad to see you. Won't you
come in?" she said, giving him precedence over some others because of
his appointment, and re-crossed the room preceding him down the hall to
her practice room. She stood to one side to take his hand as he passed.

He touched it gingerly.

So this was Mrs. Johns, he thought, as he entered, looking about him.
Bangs and Myrtle had insisted that she had performed wonderful cures--or
rather that Divine Mind had, through her. Her hands were wrinkled, her
face old. Why didn't she make herself young if she could perform these
wonderful cures? Why was this room so mussy? It was actually stuffy with
chromos and etchings of the Christ and Bible scenes on the walls, a
cheap red carpet or rug on the floor, inartistic leather-covered chairs,
a table or desk too full of books, a pale picture of Mrs. Eddy and silly
mottoes of which he was sick and tired hung here and there. People were
such hacks when it came to the art of living. How could they pretend to
a sense of Divinity who knew nothing of life? He was weary and the room
here offended him. Mrs. Johns did. Besides, her voice was slightly
falsetto. Could _she_ cure cancer? and consumption? and all other
horrible human ills, as Myrtle insisted she had? He didn't believe it.

He sat down wearily and yet contentiously in the chair she pointed out
to him and stared at her while she