“I have been wrong, Agatha; I will come.”  Agatha’s grateful eyes dwelt on hers, but the strain of the interview was beginning to count.  She sank down in the chair that Mrs. Stoddard had offered at the beginning of their meeting, and covered her eyes with one hand.  The elder woman kept the other.

“We will not go to our task alone,” she said, “we will ask God’s help.  The prayer of faith shall heal the sick.”  Then falling to her knees by Agatha’s side, with rapt, lifted face and closed eyes, she made her confession and her petition to the Lord.  Her ringing voice intoned the phrases of the Bible as if they had been music and bore the burden of her deepest soul.  She said she had been sinful in imputing unrighteousness to others, and that she had been blinded by her own wilfulness.  She prayed for the stranger within her gates, for the sick man over yonder, and implored God’s blessing on the work of her hands; and praise should be to the Lord.  Amen.

“And now, Angie,” she said practically, as she rose to her feet, addressing the girl who instantly appeared from around the doorway, “go and tell Little Simon to drive up to the horse-block.  Agatha, you go home and rest, and I’ll get hitched up and be over there almost as soon as you are.  Angie will help me get the ice-bag and all the other things, in case you might not have them handy.  Come, Agatha!”

But they paused yet a moment, stopping as if by a common instinct to look at the white cross.  Susan Stoddard gazed down on it with a grief in her eyes that was the more heartbreaking because it was inarticulate.  Agatha remembered the doctor’s words, and understood something of the friction that could exist between this evangelistic sister and the finer, more intellectual brother.

“I’ve never been inside the old red house since he died,” said Mrs. Stoddard.

“I’m sorry!” cried Agatha.  “It is hard for you to come there, I know.”

“He maketh the rough places plain,” chanted Susan Stoddard.  “Hercules was a good brother and a good man!”

Agatha laid her arm about the older woman’s shoulder, and thus was led out to Little Simon’s buggy.  Susan helped her in, and Agatha leaned back, with closed eyes, indifferent to the beauty of early afternoon on a cool summer’s day.  Little Simon let her ride in quiet, but landed her in the dust on the opposite side of the road from the lilac bushes.

“Those trees!” said Doctor Thayer’s voice, as he came out to meet her.  “How did you make out with Susan?”

“She’s coming,” said Agatha.  “Is your patient any better?”

“I don’t think he’s any worse,” answered the doctor dubiously, “but I’m glad Susan’s coming.  I’d be glad to know how you got round her.”

Agatha paused a moment before replying, “I wrestled with her.”

The doctor smiled grimly, “I’ve known the wrestling to come out the other way.”

“I can believe that!” said Agatha.