A squall of rain burst upon the south windows, darkening the nave. Mrs. Wesley started, and involuntarily her hands went up towards her ears. Then she remembered, dropped them and stood listening with her arms rigid.
Under a penthouse in the parsonage yard, Molly and Johnny Whitelamb watched the downpour, and the cocks and hens dismally ruffling under shelter of the eaves.
"She was the best of us all, the bravest and the cleverest."
"She was like no one in the world," said Johnny.
"And the most loyal. She loved me best, and I have done nothing for her."
"You did what you could, Miss Molly."
"If I were a man—Oh, Johnny, of what use are my brothers to me?"
Johnny was silent.
"The others were jealous of her. She could no more help excelling them in wit and spirits than she could in looks. None of them understood her, but I only—and you, I think, a little."
"It was an honour to know her and serve her. I shall never forget her, Miss Molly."