“Naughty boy,” she said, taking the carrot from his fat hand to substitute her own ripe gooseberry, and she did it without any ill-feeling; he was behaving, of course, as well as you could expect boys to behave.
But as Andy tramped off with his empty basket, an almost incredible idea crossed his mind. Could Mrs. Simpson have reached a place beyond him?
Ridiculous! Her idea of the Deity as a sort of Lost Property Office was an altogether wrong and hideously material one.
And yet——
A thought forced itself from somewhere outside upon Andy’s mental vision. Had she not perhaps grasped with the fingers of superstition a corner of that gigantic truth which is above all creeds—all theories—the truth that there is no limit whatever to the power of faith?
Andy sat down to his study-table and wrote his article for a paper to which he contributed at those times—very rare times—when the editor would accept his contributions. And after he had been writing five minutes he felt perfectly certain, of course, that he knew more about everything in the world than Mrs. Simpson could ever possibly do.
Still—there had been a moment——
About eleven o’clock he began to get restless and to wonder at what hour a young lady would be likely to visit the invalid parrot of a deceased great-aunt.
Not so very early, because, after all, William was not a lovable person in himself.
And not so very late, because of the great-aunt deceased.