wear it herself and not give it away. The little old pew-opener's
pink and white face flushed with delight as she took it, and the thin,
work-worn hands fingered it admiringly. "But I may lend it?" she
pleaded.

They turned up Church Street. Joan confided to Mary what a rotten
Christmas she had had, all by herself, without a soul to speak to except
her landlady, who had brought her meals and had been in such haste to get
away.

"I don't know what made me think of you," she said. "I'm so glad I did."
She gave the little old lady a hug. Mary laughed. "Where are you going
now, dearie?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't mind so much now," answered Joan. "Now that I've seen a
friendly face, I shall go home and go to bed early."

They walked a little way in silence. Mary slipped her hand into Joan's.
"You wouldn't care to come home and have a bit of supper with me, would
you, dearie?" she asked.

"Oh, may I?" answered Joan.

Mary's hand gave Joan's a little squeeze. "You won't mind if anybody
drops in?" she said. "They do sometimes of a Sunday evening."

"You don't mean a party?" asked Joan.

"No, dear," answered Mary. "It's only one or two who have nowhere else
to go."

Joan laughed. She thought she would be a fit candidate.

"You see, it makes company for me," explained Mary.

Mary lived in a tiny house behind a strip of garden. It stood in a
narrow side street between two public-houses, and was covered with ivy.
It had two windows above and a window and a door below. The upstairs
rooms belonged to the churchwardens and were used as a storehouse for old
parish registers, deemed of little value. Mary Stopperton and her
bedridden husband lived in the two rooms below. Mary unlocked the door,
and Joan passed in and waited. Mary lit a candle that was standing on a
bracket and turned to lead the way.

"Shall I shut the door?" suggested Joan.

Mary blushed like a child that has been found out just as it was hoping
that it had not been noticed.

"It doesn't matter, dearie," she explained. "They know, if they find it
open, that I'm in."

The little room looked very cosy when Mary had made up the fire and
lighted the lamp. She seated Joan in the worn horsehair easy-chair; out
of which one had to be careful one did not slip on to the floor; and
spread her handsome shawl over the back of the dilapidated sofa.

"You won't mind my running away for a minute," she said. "I shall only
be in the next room."