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Updated: June 13, 2025
"But I don't think angels are very nice, generally," said Joy, doubtingly. "They preach. Does Peace Maythorne preach? I shan't like her if she does." "Peace preach! Not like her! You'd better know what you're talking about, if you're going to talk," said Gypsy, with heightened color. "Dear me, you take a body's head off. Well, if she should preach, I shall come right home."
A sudden thought came to the two girls then, in a dim, childish way—a thought they could by no means have explained; they wondered if in those few words did not lie the key to Peace Maythorne's beautiful, sorrowful life. They would not have expressed it so, but that was what they meant. "See here," broke out Gypsy all at once, "Peace Maythorne wants you and me to make up, Joy."
One day before it came a sudden notion seemed to strike Gypsy, and she rushed out of the house in her characteristic style, as if she were running for her life, and down to Peace Maythorne's, and flew into the quiet room like a tempest. "Peace Maythorne, what's your favorite verse?" "Why, what a hurry you're in! Sit down and rest a minute." "No, I can't stop.
"Oh, I should be so glad!" said Peace, with one of those rare smiles: "I didn't dare to ask you." "Well; I'll come. But I told you you wouldn't like me." "I do," said Peace. "I like you very much." "How funny!" said Gypsy. Then she bade her good-by, and went to school. "Mother," she said, at night, "did you have any particular reason in sending me to Peace Maythorne?" "Perhaps so," said Mrs.
A girl lay there, with a pale face turned over on the pillows, and weak, thin hands, folded on the counterpane. She might, from her size, have been about sixteen years of age; but her face was like the face of a woman long grown old. The clothing of the bed partially concealed her shoulders, which were cruelly rounded and bent. So Peace Maythorne was a cripple.
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