here in lodgings; they are most
uncomfortable, but I sleep well, and the eggs are fresh. And then I love the country. My real name is Mrs. Barrows."
"Do you intend a long stay?"repeated the Vicar, trying not to feel that her last sentence was peculiar.
"I want to watch them putting up the window. After that, I don't know. I don't think I could bear to be long away from London. Perhaps I might buy a cottage here, if you would help me."
Evidently she was a person of means.
"This is the Lady Chapel window,"said the Vicar suddenly.
"Oh,"she cried in consternation."I did not know it was so small. We must make it larger—I think this would never hold them."
"Hold whom?"
"All Saints—I want it to be an All Saints window. I went to church last Thursday; I heard the bells ringing and went in to see. I thought perhaps it was a wedding. I found a service, so I stayed, and you were preaching an All Saints Day sermon. It was beautiful; it gave me the idea. You said ' called to be saints ' was meant for all of us; I'd
never heard of that idea. I'd thought the saints were over long ago; I'd seen old pictures of them when I was a child. I thought yours was a beautiful idea. It helped me so."
"It is not only an idea, it is quite true."
"I know. But it was beautiful of you to think of it."
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,"said the Vicar, half aloud.
"But then, of course, I supposed there must still be saints. And I thought of two or three people, then of quite a number. Ladies I have met, who have affected me —most strongly — and one dear boy I know"
"We have most of us been privileged-
"Don't you think,"she said, with round eyes,"that saints must often seem quite unconventional?""In so far as conventionality is error—yes.""There,"she cried, "I knew you'd agree with me. Wouldn't you describe a saint as somebody who, going ahead by their own
light"
"By a light that is given them"
"That's what I meant—doesn't care what
anybody says and helps other people; really makes it possible for other people to go on living?"
"Well, yes."The Vicar hesitated over this definition.
"Don't saints seem always very strong?"
"There is a great strength in them, but there is weakness too; they have a great deal in themselves to combat before"
"Before they can fight other people's battles."
"Nobody can fight another's battle! We have got to fight our battles for ourselves— against ourselves."
"Oh,"she said a little flatly, "now that wasn't my idea. When I'm in a difficulty, or even in the blues, I just go to one of these friends of mine and talk it out, and, well, it's quite extraordinary the difference I feel. I see light at once. It's as if they took a burden off my shoulders."
"There is only One who can do that. Can't you try and get straight to the Divine?"
Her voice out of the darkness—it was now very dark—sounded lonely and bewildered.
"No, I don't seem to want to. You see, Fm not at all good."
"All the more reason"
She ignored the interruption."It's power; that's what some people have; they're what I call good people—saints. And you know, these friends I was talking about; they're not at all conventional and they never go to church, except, perhaps, to weddings. And one or two of them are—oh, very unconventional. You'd be surprised."
They walked across the churchyard, just able to see the path by the reflected light on the wet flagstones. The Vicar tried to help her:"And you find that contact with certain personalities brings with it healing and invigoration?"
She grasped eagerly at the phrase."Healing and invigoration, yes, that's what I mean. It isn't anything to do with love or friendship. When I was younger I thought that loving people was meant to help one; it led me— oh, so wrong. Loving is only giving, isn't it, just a sort of luxury, like giving this window. It doesn't do you any good, or the person either. But people like"—she named a
notorious lady—"I can't tell you how she's helped me. She's
uncomfortable, but I sleep well, and the eggs are fresh. And then I love the country. My real name is Mrs. Barrows."
"Do you intend a long stay?"repeated the Vicar, trying not to feel that her last sentence was peculiar.
"I want to watch them putting up the window. After that, I don't know. I don't think I could bear to be long away from London. Perhaps I might buy a cottage here, if you would help me."
Evidently she was a person of means.
"This is the Lady Chapel window,"said the Vicar suddenly.
"Oh,"she cried in consternation."I did not know it was so small. We must make it larger—I think this would never hold them."
"Hold whom?"
"All Saints—I want it to be an All Saints window. I went to church last Thursday; I heard the bells ringing and went in to see. I thought perhaps it was a wedding. I found a service, so I stayed, and you were preaching an All Saints Day sermon. It was beautiful; it gave me the idea. You said ' called to be saints ' was meant for all of us; I'd
never heard of that idea. I'd thought the saints were over long ago; I'd seen old pictures of them when I was a child. I thought yours was a beautiful idea. It helped me so."
"It is not only an idea, it is quite true."
"I know. But it was beautiful of you to think of it."
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,"said the Vicar, half aloud.
"But then, of course, I supposed there must still be saints. And I thought of two or three people, then of quite a number. Ladies I have met, who have affected me —most strongly — and one dear boy I know"
"We have most of us been privileged-
"Don't you think,"she said, with round eyes,"that saints must often seem quite unconventional?""In so far as conventionality is error—yes.""There,"she cried, "I knew you'd agree with me. Wouldn't you describe a saint as somebody who, going ahead by their own
light"
"By a light that is given them"
"That's what I meant—doesn't care what
anybody says and helps other people; really makes it possible for other people to go on living?"
"Well, yes."The Vicar hesitated over this definition.
"Don't saints seem always very strong?"
"There is a great strength in them, but there is weakness too; they have a great deal in themselves to combat before"
"Before they can fight other people's battles."
"Nobody can fight another's battle! We have got to fight our battles for ourselves— against ourselves."
"Oh,"she said a little flatly, "now that wasn't my idea. When I'm in a difficulty, or even in the blues, I just go to one of these friends of mine and talk it out, and, well, it's quite extraordinary the difference I feel. I see light at once. It's as if they took a burden off my shoulders."
"There is only One who can do that. Can't you try and get straight to the Divine?"
Her voice out of the darkness—it was now very dark—sounded lonely and bewildered.
"No, I don't seem to want to. You see, Fm not at all good."
"All the more reason"
She ignored the interruption."It's power; that's what some people have; they're what I call good people—saints. And you know, these friends I was talking about; they're not at all conventional and they never go to church, except, perhaps, to weddings. And one or two of them are—oh, very unconventional. You'd be surprised."
They walked across the churchyard, just able to see the path by the reflected light on the wet flagstones. The Vicar tried to help her:"And you find that contact with certain personalities brings with it healing and invigoration?"
She grasped eagerly at the phrase."Healing and invigoration, yes, that's what I mean. It isn't anything to do with love or friendship. When I was younger I thought that loving people was meant to help one; it led me— oh, so wrong. Loving is only giving, isn't it, just a sort of luxury, like giving this window. It doesn't do you any good, or the person either. But people like"—she named a
notorious lady—"I can't tell you how she's helped me. She's
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