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 uncomfortable, but I sleep well, and the eggs are fresh. And then I love the country. My real name is Mrs. Barrows."

"Do you intend a long stay?" repeated the Vicar, trying not to feel that her last sentence was peculiar.

"I want to watch them putting up the window. After that, I don't know. I don't think I could bear to be long away from London. Perhaps I might buy a cottage here, if you would help me."

Evidently she was a person of means.

"This is the Lady Chapel window," said the Vicar suddenly.

"Oh," she cried in consternation. "I did not know it was so small. We must make it larger—I think this would never hold them."

"Hold whom?"

"All Saints—I want it to be an All Saints window. I went to church last Thursday; I heard the bells ringing and went in to see. I thought perhaps it was a wedding. I found a service, so I stayed, and you were preaching an All Saints Day sermon. It was beautiful; it gave me the idea. You said 'called to be saints' was meant for all of us; I'd