Neither sister spoke a word, but Spiteful suddenly burst into tears and laid her head against the shoulder of her kneeling cousin as though at last all the bitter anguish of her broken heart must find an outlet.

For some time they continued like this without a word being spoken until finally the wild sobbings ceased, and Grace and Glory, taking her handkerchief, wiped the tear-stained face and kissed her cousin again and again.

Then there came a little interruption. The two tall strangers, who all this while had remained unnoticed in the background, now came forward saying sweetly: “Please come and refresh yourselves. We have made everything ready.”

Gloomy and Spiteful looked up in amazement and then again shrank back as though in shame or embarrassment. The ugly, unpainted little table was now covered with a cloth. On it stood a vase in which were arranged some of the sweetest perfumed flowers that the sisters had ever seen, pure white with a golden crown at the heart of each one. Beside the vase of flowers were plates filled with wild strawberries and blueberries. Another dish held apricots, apples, and pomegranates, and there was a loaf of bread, a pat of butter and a comb of fresh honey—delicacies which never before had appeared in that dreary attic or in Mrs. Dismal’s almost equally dreary cottage. It was enough to tempt the weakest appetite. Peace was over by the stove pouring boiling water into the teapot, and Joy was holding a bottle of fresh milk in one hand and a little jug of cream in the other.

Spiteful looked at her sister speechlessly, and Gloomy said, in a voice which tried to be a little like the old haughty tone, “We cannot accept charity like this. Much—Much—” and then she broke off as though she couldn’t finish the name, and added almost tremblingly, “as though we were beggars, Grace and Glory.”

“Which is what we really are though,” added Spiteful.

“This isn’t charity,” said Grace and Glory with a little laugh. “We picked these strawberries and blueberries up on the High Places this morning before coming down to the valley; and the other fruits are out of the King’s gardens and the honey is from his hives. My dearest cousins, nobody thinks he is accepting charity when a King gives!”

The sisters looked at one another. Then Spiteful, who through all her illness and weakness had seen nothing whatever to tempt her appetite, looked longingly at the fresh fruits on the daintily spread table, and Gloomy saw the look. She got up and taking her sister’s hand said simply: “Thank you very much. Spiteful has been so weak and sick it really would be the most absurd pride on our part to refuse, and as she says, no one has less right to be proud than we have.”

Then they all three sat down at the table, and Joy and Peace waited on them in the deftest and kindest manner possible. First they cut the bread into enticingly thin slices; then they served the strawberries and cream, and while those were being eaten, Joy prepared the pomegranates and apples and Peace whipped up a nourishing and delicious concoction of eggs. As they ate the meal up there in the cheerless attic Spiteful felt almost like a queen being coaxed with delicacies. A faint color stole into her cheeks and a little light appeared in her eyes.