In her occasional visits to her near neighbour Mrs. Pettifer, too old a
friend to be shunned because she was a Tryanite, Janet was obliged
sometimes to hear allusions to Mr. Tryan, and even to listen to his
praises, which she usually met with playful incredulity.
'Ah, well,' she answered one day, 'I like dear old Mr. Crewe and his
pipes a great deal better than your Mr. Tryan and his Gospel. When I was
a little toddle, Mr. and Mrs. Crewe used to let me play about in their
garden, and have a swing between the great elm-trees, because mother had
no garden. I like people who are kind; kindness is my religion; and
that's the reason I like you, dear Mrs. Pettifer, though you are a
Tryanite.'
'But that's Mr. Tryan's religion too--at least partly. There's nobody can
give himself up mo
