Jane suddenly became to her more interesting than she had yet been. She
wondered what further questions to ask, and could not think of any that
she could put into words. Finally, she left the room, sought her
mother, and exclaimed,--
"Mother, I'm not going to marry Reynolds Bartram. If hotel servants
know all about his goings-on evenings, what stories may they not tell
if they choose? That sort of people will say anything they can of him.
I don't suppose they know the difference between the truth and a lie;
at least they never do when we hire them."
The mother looked at the daughter tenderly and shrewdly. Then she
smiled, and said,--
"Daughter, I can see but one way for you to relieve your mind on that
subject."
"What is that?" asked the daughter.
"It is only this: convert Jane."
CHAPTER XVII.
As the special meetings at the church went on, Deacon Quickset began to
fear that he had made a mistake. He had taken an active part in all
previous meetings of the same kind for more than twenty-five years. The
results of some of them had been very satisfactory, and the deacon
modestly but nevertheless with much self-gratulation had recounted his
own services in all of them.
"Whoso converteth a sinner from the error of his ways shall save a soul
from death and cover a multitude of sins; that is what the good book
says," said the deacon to himself one day, as he walked from his house
to his place of business; "and considering the number of people that I
have helped to snatch as brands from the burning, it does seem to me
that I must have covered a good many sins of my own,--such as they are.
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