It was the same moon that at
that moment was turning ocean waves into silver magic; that was smiling
on sleeping forests and wind-swept mountains and dancing streams. Yet
here it was actually taking the trouble to peep around the cathedral
spire and send the full flood of its radiance into the most sordid
corners of Calvary Alley, even into the unawakened soul of the dirty,
ragged, tear-stained little girl clasping the sick baby on Snawdor's
fire-escape.
[Illustration: "Her tense muscles relaxed; she forgot to cry"]
Something in Nance responded. Her tense muscles relaxed; she forgot to
cry. With eyes grown big and wistful, she watched the shining orb. All
the bravado, the fear, and rebellion died out of her, and in hushed
wonder she got from the great white night what God in heaven meant for
us to get.
CHAPTER III
THE CLARKES AT HOME
While the prodigal son of the house of Clarke was engaged in breaking
stained-glass windows in Calvary Alley, his mother was at home
entertaining the bishop with a recital of his virtues and
accomplishments. Considering the fact that Bishop Bland's dislike for
children was notorious, he was bearing the present ordeal with unusual
fortitude.
They were sitting on the spacious piazza at Hill-crest, the country
home of the Clarkes, the massive foundation of which was popularly
supposed to rest upon bottles. It was a piazza especially designed to
offset the discomforts of a Southern August afternoon and to make a
visitor, especially if he happened to be an ecclesiastical potentate
with a taste for luxury, loath to forsake its pleasant shade for the
glaring world without.
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