"I don't know what we'd be doin' at all, if it wasn't fer that same
garden," added Deborah, "with clothes, and wood and groceries to buy, to
say nothin' of the interest that's always comin' due. We--"

"Whist," said Denny in a low tone as a light flashed up in the corner
window of the house on the other side of the garden. "There's the
minister come home."

Reverently they watched the light and the moving shadow in the room. The
moon, through the branches of the trees along the street, threw waving
patches of soft light over the dark green of the little lawn. Martha's
friends had moved on. Martha herself had retired. The street was
seemingly deserted and very still.

Leaning forward in her chair Deborah spoke in a whisper. "We can always
tell when he's in of nights, and when he goes to bed. Ye see it's almost
like we was livin' in the same house with him. An' a great comfort it is
to us too, wid him such a good man, our havin' him so near. Poor bye
I'll warrant he's tired tonight. But oh, it must be a grand thing,
Doctor, to be doin' such holy work, an' a livin' with God Almighty like,
with nothin' to think of all the time but the Blessed Jesus and the Holy
Mother; an' all the people so respectful, an' lookin' up to you. Sure
'tis a grand thing, Doctor, to be a priest, savin' your presence sir,
for I know how you've little truck wid churches, tho' the lady your wife
does enough fer two."

The Doctor rose to go for he saw that the hour was late. As he stood on
the steps ready to depart the steady flow of Deborah's talk continued,
when Denny interrupted again, pointing toward a woman who was crossing