opulent by contrast, for he, at least, never lacked three
meals a day, and the Old Lady could sometimes achieve no more
than one. But she WAS very proud--so proud that she would
have died rather than let the Spencervale people, among whom
she had queened it in her youth, suspect how poor she was and
to what straits was sometimes reduced. She much preferred to
have them think her miserly and odd--a queer old recluse who
never went anywhere, even to church, and who paid the smallest
subscription to the minister's salary of anyone in the
congregation.

"And her just rolling in wealth!" they said indignantly.
"Well, she didn't get her miserly ways from her parents.
THEY were real generous and neighbourly. There never was a
finer gentleman than old Doctor Lloyd. He was always doing
kindnesses to everybody; and he had a way of doing them that
made you feel as if you was doing the favour, not him. Well,
well, let Old Lady Lloyd keep herself and her money to herself
if she wants to. If she doesn't want our company, she doesn't
have to suffer it, that's all. Reckon she isn't none too happy
for all her money and pride."

No, the Old Lady was none too happy, that was unfortunately
true. It is not easy to be happy when your life is eaten up
with loneliness and emptiness on the spiritual side, and when,
on the material side, all you have between you and starvation
is the little money your hens bring you in.

The Old Lady lived "away back at the old Lloyd place," as it
was always called. It was a quaint, low-eaved house, with big