The excitement had reached fever-heat on Easter Sunday, that Sunday on which Mrs. Briarley’s precious five-dollar bill was solemnly laid in the contribution plate. She, all her little lone self, was actually paying off part of the church debt! It seemed to her as she left the church that several women looked at her rather oddly—or was it at her hat? She had changed the trimming a little in the front. Perhaps they were admiring it.
She had expected to take little Emily to the children’s service in the afternoon, and when the child fell asleep instead, she went by herself. The service was pretty; it was full of flowers and music and children’s voices. When it was ended she stood in the vestibule, lingering, with her eyes fixed on a group of women talking to Mrs. Beatoun.
Suddenly Mrs. Beatoun detached herself from the group and came forward, with tall figure held erect. There was a breathless pause. Those who were there knew that the wearer of the hat and the owner of the hat had met at last.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Briarley, “I’m so glad you came to speak to me! I’ve been just hoping that you would!”
“Indeed!” said Mrs. Beatoun.
“I wanted to tell you—I’ve never enjoyed going to church as I have to-day.” Mrs. Briarley raised her rapt eyes to those of the rector’s wife, who wore a little half-cynical smile. “I think your husband preaches such beautiful sermons. I never heard any that made me feel so much like—like wanting to be good.” Her voice dropped shyly.
“That is very nice, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Beatoun, politely. “May I ask where you got your hat?”
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” said Mrs. Briarley. She was so full of her own earnestness of purpose that she kept on, oblivious to the chill in Mrs. Beatoun’s tone. Her cheeks became pink, her eyes suffused. “I bought it at the rummage sale. Of course it must have been worn before, although it doesn’t look it. I bought it because—I’ve been wanting to tell you that after Mr. Beatoun’s appeal I couldn’t spend the five dollars I had meant to on a hat, although I needed one. I just bought this at the sale, and gave the money to the church. I thought Mr. Beatoun might like to know he had made somebody feel that way. I never have thought of—things—before, and I wanted to thank him. I have been saying to myself, as I stood here, that if you came forward to speak to me, I’d take it as a—sign that I was to tell you this.”
She paused a moment, and then went on. (While you were unburdening your heart, why not tell all?)
“I have a dear little girl at home, and I do so want to learn to be better—for her sake. And I’ve thought if I could know you—I’ve been sort of afraid of you before, but I’m not now. And I love my little girl so very much——” She stopped again.