XXX
It was a bright frosty morning in the edge of winter when at last they let Mark go to see the minister, and Billy took care that no hint of the Shafton car should reach his knowledge. Slowly, gravely he escorted Mark down the street and up the parsonage steps.
The minister was lying on a couch in the living room and there was a low chair drawn up near by with a book open at the place, and a bit of fluffy sewing on the low table beside it. Mark looked hungrily about for the owner of the gold thimble, but there was no sign of either Mrs. Severn or Marilyn about.
There was a bandage over the minister's eyes. They hadn't told Mark about that yet.
The minister held out a groping hand with his old sweet smile and hearty welcoming voice:
“Well, son, you've come at last! Beat me to it, di
