the senior deacon, what could be more proper?

"I must say he doesn't look remarkable," she added; "but the
light-complected seldom do, to my mind."

"It is years," said Miss Vesta, "since Sister Phoebe has suffered so
little with her rheumatism. Doctor Strong understands her
constitution as no one else ever has done, not even dear Doctor
Stedman. Sister Phoebe can stoop down now like a girl; can't you,
Sister Phoebe? It is a long time since she has been able to stoop
down."

Miss Vesta's soft white face glowed with pleasure; it was a gentle
glow, like that at the heart of certain white roses.

Mrs. Weight showed little enthusiasm.

"I never have rheumatism!" she said, briefly. "I've always wore gold
beads. If you'd have tried gold beads, Phoebe, or a few raisins in
your pocket, it's my belief you'd never have had all this trouble."

It was now Miss Phoebe's turn to colour, but hers was the hard red
of a winter pear.

"I am not superstitious, Anna Maria," she said. "Doctor Strong
considers gold beads for rheumatism absurd, and I fully agree with
him. As for raisins in the pocket, that is nonsense, of course."

"It's best to be sure of your facts before reflecting upon other
folks' statements!" said Mrs. Weight, with dignity. "I know whereof