Miss Mink sank limply on the sofa by the window, and regarded her small wrinkled hand with stern surprise.  It was a hand that had never been kissed before and it was tingling in the strangest and most unaccountable manner.

The following week was lived in the afterglow of that eventful Sunday.  She described the soldier’s visit in detail to the few customers who came in.  She went early to prayer-meeting in order to tell about it.  And in the telling she subordinated everything to the dramatic climax: 

“I never was so took back in my life!” she said.  “After setting there for four mortal hours with nothing to say, just boring each other to death, for him to get up like that and make a regular play-actor bow, and kiss my hand!  Well, I never was so took back!”

And judging from the number of times Miss Mink told the story, and the conscious smile with which she concluded it, it was evident that she was not averse to being “took back.”

By the time Sunday arrived she had worked herself up to quite a state of excitement.  Would Bowinski he at church?  Would he sit on her side of the congregation?  Would he wait after the service to speak to her?  She put on her best bonnet, which was usually reserved for funerals, and pinned a bit of thread lace over the shabby collar of her coat.

The moment she entered church all doubts were dispelled.  There in her pew, quite as if he belonged there, sat the tall young Russian.  He even stepped into the aisle for her to pass in, helped her off with her coat, and found the place for her in the hymn-book.  Miss Mink realized with a glow of satisfaction, that many curious heads were craning in her direction.  For the first time since she had gone forward forty years ago to confess her faith, she was an object of interest to the congregation!

When the benediction was pronounced several women came forward ostensibly to speak to her, but in reality to ask Bowinski to go home to dinner with them.  She waived them all aside.

“No, he’s going with me!” she announced firmly, and Bowinski obediently picked up his hat and accompanied her.

For the following month this scene was enacted each Sunday, with little change to outward appearances but with great change to Miss Mink herself.  In the mothering of Bowinski she had found the great adventure of her life.  She mended his clothes, and made fancy dishes for him, she knit him everything that could be knitted, including an aviator’s helmet for which he had no possible use.  She talked about “my soldier” to any one who would listen.

Bowinski accepted her attention with grave politeness.  He wore the things she made for him, he ate the things she cooked for him, he answered all her questions and kissed her hand at parting.  Miss Mink considered his behavior perfect.

One snowy Sunday in late November Miss Mink was thrown into a panic by his failure to appear on Sunday morning.  She confided to Sister Bacon in the adjoining pew that she was afraid he had been sent to France.  Sister Bacon promptly whispered to her husband that he had been sent to France, and the rumor spread until after church quite a little group gathered around Miss Mink to hear about it.