"Ain't she the daisy?" exclaimed Mrs. Snawdor, gaily, and even Mrs.
Smelts dried her eyes, the better to appreciate Nance's gala attire.
"We're too swell to be Methodist any longer!" went on Mrs. Snawdor,
teasingly. "We're turned 'Piscopal!"
"You ain't ever got the nerve to be goin' over to the cathedral," Mrs.
Smelts asked incredulously.
"Sure, why not?" said Nance, giving her hat a more sophisticated tilt.
"Salvation's as free there as it is anywhere."
It was not salvation, however, that was concerning Nance Molloy as she
took her way jauntily out of the alley and, circling the square, joined
the throng of well-dressed men and women ascending the broad steps of the
cathedral.
From that day when she had found herself back in the alley, like a bit of
driftwood that for a brief space is whirled out of its stagnant pool,
only to be cast back again, she had planned ceaselessly for a means of
escape. During the first terrible weeks of Uncle Jed's illness, her
thoughts flew for relief sometimes to Dan, sometimes to Mac. And Dan
answered her silent appeal in person, coming daily with his clumsy hands
full of necessities, his strong arms ready to lift, his slow speech
quickened to words of hope and cheer. Mac came only in dreams, with gay,
careless eyes and empty, useless hands, and lips that asked more than
they gave. Yet it was around Mac's shining head that the halo of romance
oftenest hovered.
It was not until Uncle Jed grew better, and Dan's visits ceased, that
Nance realized what they had meant to her.
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