“‘The joy of the Lord,’” said Mrs. Everidge softly.  “If Jesus Christ is able to fill heaven don’t you think he ought to be able to fill earth too?  The trouble is we turn away from him and pour our wealth of love at earthly shrines.  Mary showed us the better way,—­she broke the box, that every drop of the precious ointment might fall on his dear head.  What is going to be the crowning satisfaction of heaven?  Not that we shall meet our friends, as so many seem to think, but that we shall awake in his likeness and see his face.  We shall be ’together,’—­we have that comfort given us, but it will be ‘together with the Lord.’  He is to be the centre of attraction and delight always.  What an unfathomable mystery it must be to the angels that he is not so with us now!”

Evadne took a long, yearning look at the dear face, as if she would imprint it upon her memory forever.  “He is with you,” she said softly. “You will never be a puzzle to the angels.”

* * * * *

The time of her stay in Vernon drew near its close, and on the last day but one she went to say good-bye to Penelope Riggs.  She found her sitting alone in the house, her mother having taken a fancy to have a sun bath.  Her right hand was doubled up and she was rubbing it slowly up and down the palm of her left while she sang softly.

“Why, Penelope, what are you doing?” cried Evadne in amaze.

“Polishin’, child.  I learnt it long ago.  One day I was that wore out I wouldn’t have cared if the sky had fallen,—­things had been goin’ crooked, an’ Mother hadn’t slept well for a fortnight, an’ I was that narvous an’ tuckered out I thought I’d fly to pieces.  There’s an old hymn Mother’s dredful fond of,—­I don’t remember how it goes now, but there’s one line she keeps repeatin’ over an’ over till I feel ready to jump.  It’s this,—­’What dyin’ wurms we be.’  So, when she begun her wurm song that mornin’ I just let fly.  ‘Ef I am a wurm,’ sez I, ’I ain’t goin’ ter be allers lookin’ to see myself squirm!’ and with that I up and out of the house.  My head was that tight inside I felt if I didn’t git out that minit somethin’ would snap.  I went straight up to Mis’ Everidge’s.  She’s one of the people you see who always lives on a hill, inside an’ out.  When I got there I couldn’t speak.  My heart’s weak at the best of times an’ the weather in there was pretty stormy.  I just dropped into the first chair an’ she put her hands on my two shoulders an’ sez she,—­’You poor child!’ an’ then she went away an’ made me a syllabub.”

“‘Look on the bright side,’ sez she in her cheery way when I had finished drinkin’.”

“‘Sakes alive, Mis’ Everidge,’ sez I, ‘there isn’t any bright side!’”

“‘Then polish up the dark one,’ sez she, ez quick ez a flash.  I’ve been tryin’ to do it ever since.”

“You dear Penelope!” exclaimed Evadne, “I think you have!”