ld 'em, but it didn't mean anythin' to me. But maybe your show is
better'n his was," she added, trying to pacify him.

Douglas was undecided whether to feel amused or grateful for Polly's
ever-increasing sympathy. Before he could trust his twitching lips to
answer, she had put another question to him.

"Are you goin' to do a stunt while I am here?"

"I preach every Sunday, if that's what you mean; I preach this morning."

"Is this Sunday?" she asked, sitting up with renewed energy and looking
about the room as though everything had changed colour.

"Yes."

"And YOU GOT A MATINEE?" she exclaimed, incredulously.

"We have services," he corrected, gently.

"WE rest up on SUNDAYS," she said in a tone of deep commiseration.

"Oh, I see," he answered, feeling it no time to enter upon another
discussion as to the comparative advantages of their two professions.

"What are you goin' ter spiel about to-day?"

"About Ruth and Naomi."

"Ruth and who?"

"Naomi," he repeated.

"Naomi," she echoed, tilting her head from side to side, as she listened
to the soft cadences of the word. "I never heard that name afore. It 'ud
look awful swell on a billboard, wouldn't it?"

"It's a Bible name, honey," Mandy said, eager to get into the
conversation. "Dar's a balful picture 'bout her. I seed it."

"I LIKE to look at PICTURES," Polly answered tentatively. Mandy crossed
the room to fetch the large Bible with its steel engravings.

"We got a girl named Ruth in our 'Leap of Death' stunt. Some of the
folks is kinder down on 'er, but I ain't."

She might have told Douglas more of her forlorn, little friend, but just
then Mandy came to the bed, hugging a large, old-fashioned Bible, and
Douglas helped to place the ponderous book before the invalid.

"See, honey, dar dey is," the old woman said, pointing to the picture of
Ruth and Naomi.

"Them's crackerjacks, ain't they?" Polly gasped, and her eyes shone with
wonder. "Which one 's Ruth?"

"Dis one," said Mandy, pointing with her thumb.

"Why, they're dressed just like our chariot drivers. What does it say
about 'em?"

"You can read it for yourself," Douglas answered gently. There was
something pathetic in the eagerness of the starved little mind.

"Well, I ain't much on readin'--OUT LOUD," she faltered, growing
suddenly conscious of her deficiencies. "Read it for me, will you?"

"Certainly," and he drew his chair nearer to the bed. One strong hand
supported the other h