"Le's have a real good time," she said, when she had drawn the table
forward and set forth her bread, and apples, and tea. "Passon, draw up!
You drink tea, don't ye? I don't, myself. I never could bear to spile
good water. But I keep it on hand for them that likes it. Elvin, here!
You take this good big apple. It's man's size more 'n woman's, I
guess."

Elvin pushed back his chair.

"I ain't goin' to put a mouthful of victuals to my lips till I make up
my mind whether I can speak or not," he said, loudly.

"All right," answered Dilly, placidly. "Bless ye! the teapot'll be
goin' all night, if ye say so."

Only Dilly and the parson made a meal; and when it was over, Parson
True rose, as if his part of the strange drama must at last begin, and
fell on his knees.

"Let us pray!"

Molly, too, knelt, and Elvin threw his arms upon the table, and laid
his head upon them. But Dilly stood erect. From time to time, she
glanced curiously from the parson to the lovely darkened world outside
her little square of window, and smiled slightly, tenderly, as if out
there she saw the visible God. The parson prayed for "this sick soul,
our brother," over and over, in many phrases, and with true and
passionate desire. And when the prayer was done, he put his hand on the
young man's shoulder, and said, with a yearning persuasiveness,--