Commandment was, "Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, because
he'll get it."

"Read your Bible!" Mrs. Maitland retorted; "then you'll know
enough to call it a Beatitude, not a Commandment."

Mr. Ferguson snorted again. "Bible? It's all I can do to get time
to read my paper. I'm worked to death," he reproached her. But in
spite of being worked to death he always found time on summer
evenings to weed the garden in his back yard, or on winter
mornings to feed a flock of Mercer's sooty pigeons; and he had
been known to walk all over town to find a particular remedy for
a sick child of one of his molders. To be sure he alleged, when
Mrs. Maitland accused him of kindness, that, as far as the child
was concerned, he was a fool for his pains, because human
critters ("I'm one of 'em myself,") were a bad lot and it would
be a good thing if they all died young!

"Oh, you have a fine bark, friend Ferguson," she said, "but when
it comes to a bite, I guess most folks get a kiss from you."

"Kiss?" said Robert Ferguson, horrified; "not much!"

They were very good friends, these two, each growling at,
disapproving of, and completely trusting the other. Mrs.
Maitland's chief disapproval of her superintendent--for her
reproaches about his bark were really expressions of admiration--
her serious disapproval was based on the fact that, when the
season permitted, he broke the Sabbath by grubbing in his garden,
instead of going to church. A grape-arbor ran the length of this