I did have a dinner, though it war a terrible measly one--Mrs.Breynton, marm!" Mrs.Breynton stepped up to her.
"What was that ye read t'other day, 'bout liars not goin'clock into the kingdom of heaven ?--I 'most forgot." Gypsy crept out, softly.

She was wondering how her mother had managed her charity to this fretful old woman so wisely, that her words, unfitly spoken, were becoming a trouble to herself, and her hours of increasing pain turned into hours of late, faint repentance.

Perhaps the charm lay in a certain old book, dog-eared and worn, and dusty from long disuse on the cupboard shelf.

This little book Mrs.Breynton had found, and she had read in it many times, until that painful groaning ceased.
And so one night it chanced that the old yellow cat sat blinking at the light, and the yellow, furrowed face turned over on the pillow and smiled, and lay still.

The light burned out, and the morning came; the cat jumped purring upon the bed, and seeing what was there, curled up by it, with a mournful mewing cry.
"Peace Maythorne says," said Gypsy, "that if Mrs.Littlejohn went to heaven, she will be so happy _to find she doesn't scold_! Isn't it funny, in Peace, to think of such things ?".