Her popularity was immense.  Sad people came to her because she sighed with them and never tried to cheer them; dull people came to her because she was never in offensive high spirits or in a boastful mood—­not even when her sons had done something particularly striking—­and happy people came to her, for, though she sighed and warned them that nothing lasted in this world, her eyes shone with pleasure, and her interest was so keen that every detail could be told and discussed and gloated over with the comfortable knowledge that Mrs. Macdonald would not say to her next visitor that she had been simply deaved with talk about So-and-so’s engagement.

Mrs. Macdonald believed in speaking her mind—­if she had anything pleasant to say, and she was sometimes rather startling in her frankness to strangers.  “My dear, how pretty you are,” she would say to a girl visitor, or, “Forgive me, but I must tell you I don’t think I ever saw a nicer hat.”

The women in the congregation had no comfort in their new clothes until Mrs. Macdonald had pronounced on them.  A word was enough.  Perhaps at the church door some congregational matter would be discussed; then, at parting, a quick touch on the arm and—­“Most successful bonnet I ever saw you get,” or, “The coat’s worth all the money,” or, “Everything new, and you look as young as your daughter.”

Pamela and Jean found the minister and his wife in the garden.  Mr. Macdonald was pacing up and down the path overlooking the river, with his next Sunday’s sermon in his hand, while Mrs. Macdonald raked the gravel before the front door (she liked the place kept so tidy that her sons had been wont to say bitterly, as they spent an hour of their precious Saturdays helping, that she dusted the branches and wiped the faces of the flowers with a handkerchief) and carried on a conversation with her husband which was of little profit, as the rake on the stones dimmed the sense of her words.

“Wasn’t that right, John?” she was saying as her husband came near her.

“Dear me, woman, how can I tell?  I haven’t heard a word you’ve been saying.  Here are callers.  I’ll get away to my visiting.  Why!  It’s Jean and Miss Reston—­this is very pleasant.”

Mrs. Macdonald waved her hand to her visitors as she hurried away to put the rake in the shed, reappearing in a moment like a stout little whirlwind.

“Come away, my dears.  Up to the study, Jean; that’s where the fire is to-day.  I’m delighted to see you both.  What a blessing Agnes is baking pancakes It seemed almost a waste, for neither John nor I eat them, but, you see, they had just been meant for you....  I wouldn’t go just now, John.  We’ll have an early tea and that will give you a long evening.”

Jean explained that she specially wanted to see Mr. Macdonald.

“And would you like me to go away?” Mrs. Macdonald asked.  “Miss Reston and I can go to the dining-room.”