we go
back!"

"Yes--and you look at the two faces together, this time."

"I will look," was the reply, with a shade of doubt in it that
added:--"I may not see the resemblance."

Gwen went first. The two old faces were close together as they entered,
and she could see, more plainly than she had ever seen it yet, their
amazing similarity. She could see how much thinner old Maisie was of the
two. It was very visible in the hand that touched her sister's, which
was strong and substantial by comparison.

The monotonous bells at Chorlton Church had said all they could to
convince its congregation that the time had come for praise and prayer;
and had broken into impatient thrills and jerks that seemed to say:--"If
you don't come for this, nothing will fetch you!" The wicked man who had
been waiting to go for a brisk walk as soon as the others had turned
away from their wickedness, and were safe in their pews making the
responses, was getting on his thickest overcoat and choosing which stick
he would have, or had already decided that the coast was clear, and had
started. Old Maisie's face on the pillow was attentive to the bells. She
looked less feverish, and they were giving her pleasure.

What was that she was saying, about some bells? "Old Keturah's husband
the sexton used to ring them. You remember him, Phoebe darling?--him and
his wart. We thought it would slice off with a knife, like the topnoddy
on a new loaf if one was greedy.... And you remember how we went up his
ladder into the belfry, and I was frightened because it jumped?"

Old Phoebe remembered. "Yes, indeed! And old Jacob saying if he could
clamber up at ninety-four, we could at fourteen. Then we pulled the
bells. After that he would let us ring the curfew."

Just at that moment the last jerk cut off the last thrill of the chimes
at Chorlton, and the big bell started thoughtfully to say it was eleven
o'clock. Old Maisie seemed suddenly disquieted. "Phoebe darling!" she
said. And then, touching her sister's hand, with a frightened
voice:--"This _is_ Phoebe, is it not?... No, it is not my eyes--it is my
head goes!" For Gwen had said:--"Yes, this is your sister. Do you not
see her?" She then went on:--"My dear--my dear!--I am keeping you from
church. I want not to. I want _not_ to."

"Never mind church for one day, dear," said Granny Marrable. "Parson he
won't blame me, stopping away this once. More by token, if he does miss
seeing me, he'll just think I'm