roses,' John!"

The shadow fell again, but he made no response.

The following Monday the young minister chanced to be in the culinary
precincts of the rectory when Amarilly called for the laundry, none of
the boys having been available for the service.

An instant gleam of recognition came into his kindly eyes.

"You must be Amarilly Jenkins. I have heard very good accounts of you--
that you are industrious and a great help to your mother."

Amarilly looked at him shrewdly.

"_She_ told you," she affirmed positively.

There was but one "she" in the world of these two, and John Meredith
naturally comprehended.

"She's orful good to us," continued Amarilly, "and it was through her,
Mr. St. John, that we got the surpluses."

"It was, indeed, Amarilly; but my name is not St. John. It is John
Meredith."

"She was jest kiddin' me, then!" deduced Amarilly appreciatively. "I
thought at fust as how yer name was St. Mark, and she said you could
never be a St. Mark, that you was St. John. She likes a joke. Mr.
Reeves-Eggleston (he's playin' the part of the jilted man in the new