Mr. Finch's message. Well as she knew that
time was precious, she lingered with it at the
door.

Mr. Finch was sorry, but he was too busy.
He hoped he should not be sent for again;
for he could not come.

"Perhaps, Miss," said Sally, with swimming
eyes, "it might have been better to send somebody
else than me. Perhaps, if you sent
somebody else—"

"I do not think that, Sally. However, if
you will remain here, I will go myself. It
does not matter what he thinks of me, a
stranger in the place; and perhaps none of
his flock could so well tell him that this is a
duty which he cannot refuse."

Mary had not walked up the street for
several weeks. Though her good influence
was in almost every house, in the form of
cleanliness, fresh air, cheerfulness, and hope,
she had been seen only when passing from
one sick room to another, among a cluster of
houses near her aunt's. She supposed it
might be this disuse which made everything
appear strange; but it was odd scarcely to
feel her limbs when she walked, and to see
the houses and people like so many visions.
She had no feeling of illness, however, and
she said to herself, that some time or other
she should get a good long sleep; and then
everything would look and feel as it used to do.

As she passed along the street, the children
at play ran in to the houses to say that the
Good Lady was coming; and the healthy and
the convalescent came out on their door-steps,
to bid God bless her; and the sick, who were
sensible enough to know what was going on,
bade God bless her from their beds.

What influence the Good Lady used with
the clergyman there is no saying, as the
conversation was never reported by either of
them; but she soon came back bright and
cheerful, saying that Mr. Finch would follow
in an hour. She had stepped in at Warrender's,
to beg the father and daughter to come and
communicate with the dying woman. They
would come: and Sally would go, she was sure,
and take Ann Warrender's place at the wash-
tub at home; for there were several sick
people in want of fresh linen before night.
Poor Sally went sobbing through the streets.
She understood the Good Lady's kindness in
sending her away, and on a work of usefulness,
because she, alas! could not receive the
communion. She was living in sin; and when
two or three were gathered together in the
name of Christ, she must be cast out.

There was little comfort in the service,
unless, as the bystanders hoped, the sick
woman was too feeble and too much absorbed
in her own thoughts to notice some things that
dismayed them. Mrs. Billiter was, indeed,
surprised at first at the clergyman's refusal to
enter the chamber. He would come no
further than the door. Mary saw at a glance
that he was in no condition to be reasoned
with, and that she must give what aid she
could to get the administration over as decently
as possible. Happily, he made the service
extremely short. The little that there was he
read wrong: but Mrs. Billiter (and she alone)
was not disturbed by this. Whether it was
that the deadening of the ear had begun, or
that Mr. Finch spoke indistinctly, and was
chewing spices all the time, or that the observance
itself was enough for the poor woman, it
seemed all right with her. She lay with her
eyes still shining, her wasted hands clasped,
and a smile on her face, quite easy and
content; and when Mr. Finch was gone, she told
Mary again that she saw it all now, and was
quite ready. She was dead within an hour.

As for Warrender, he was more disturbed
than any one had seen him since the breaking
out of the fever.

"Why, there it is before his eyes in the
Prayer-book," said he, " that clergymen ' shall
diligently from time to time (but especially in
the time of pestilence, or other infectious sickness)
exhort their parishioners to the often
receiving of the holy communion: ' and instead
of this, he even shuts up the church on
Sundays."

"He is not the first who has done that,"
said Mary. " It was done in times of plague,
as a matter of precaution."

"But, Miss, should not a clergyman go all
the more among the people, and not the less,
for their having no comfort of worship?"

"Certainly: but you see how it is with
Mr. Finch, and you and I cannot alter it.
He has taken a panic; and I am sure he is
the one most to be pitied for that. I can tell
you too, between ourselves, that Mr. Finch
judges himself, at times, as severely as we can
judge him; and is more unhappy about being
of so little use to his people than his worst
enemy could wish him."

"Then, Ma'am, why does not he pluck up
a little spirit, and do his duty?"

"He has been made too soft," he says, " by
a fond mother, who is always sending him
cordials and spices against the fever. We
must make some allowance, and look another
way. Let us be thankful that you and Ann
are not afraid. If our poor neighbours have
not all that we could wish, they have clean
bedding and clothes, and lime-washed rooms,
fresh and sweet compared with anything they
have known before."

"And," thought Warrender, though he did
did not say it, but only touched his hat as he
went after his business, " one as good as any
clergyman to pray by their bedsides, and
speak cheerfully to them of what is to come.
When I go up the stair, I might know who is
praying by the cheerfulness of the voice. I
never saw such a spirit in any woman,—never.
I have never once seen her cast down, ever so
little. If there is a tear in her eye, for other
people's sake, there is a smile on her lips,
because her heart tells her that everything
that happens is all right."

This night, Mary was to have slept. She