“It was his church an' I jined it. This was his coat, an' so, let us pray.”
CHAPTER VII
MARGARET ADAMS
There passed out of the church, after the service, a woman leading a boy of twelve.
He was a handsome lad with a proud and independent way about him. He carried his head up and there was that calmness that showed good blood. There was even a haughtiness which was pathetic, knowing as the village did the story of his life.
The woman herself was of middle age, with neat, well-fitting clothes, which, in the smallest arrangement of pattern and make-up, bespoke a natural refinement.
Her's was a sweet face, with dark eyes, and in their depths lay the shadow of resignation.