Joyce retreated.
"Helen," she said, coming into the little drawing room where her sister was seated working, "I think you had better look after Peggy. I don't pretend to understand her theology, but she is going to treat Mrs. Webster's lodger to some of it, and it is being done up in a very unorthodox way!"
Helen looked up.
"You are always laughing at my little Peggy, Joyce, but I tell you she sometimes shames me with her earnestness."
"Well, go and see what she's doing, for her originality may do mischief sometimes."
Helen went off to the kitchen. She came back some minutes after, with a crumpled piece of paper in her hand.
"I don't like to be always prying into her concerns," she said. "It is no business of ours, and really I don't think her purposes are ever harmful ones. So I did not ask her any questions, but she showed me this, and asked me if it was spelt right, and I told her it was very nice and came away. This is the rough copy."
Joyce bent over it and read—
"An excellent recipe for a sick heart to be made well.
"INGREDIENTS.
"You keeps quiet, and you puts your mind to it. First you kneels down and arsks Jesus Christ to cure it, and make it well. Then you gives it to Him to keep, for the Bible says, 'My Son give Me thine heart.' Then He washes it 'whiter than snow,' same as Psalm says, and then when He has cleaned it proper He comes and lives in it, same as He says, 'Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man open unto Me, I will come in.' Then the sick heart begins to sing, because it's happy.
"This recipe has never been known to fail.
"Time in making: about half an hour."
Joyce looked at her sister, and Helen looked back at her in silence.