Once more Wolf strained his ears; and, mingled with the clicking of the bowls outside, came that repeated “Jesus⁠ ⁠… Jesus⁠ ⁠… Jesus⁠ ⁠… Jesus” from above the ceiling.

“He’ll go to sleep, present; and by suppertime he’ll be gay as a lark. It’s our Mr. Valley taught him what to do. ‘When you feel God coming,’ Mr. Valley said to him, ‘don’t get flustered or anything. Just say “Jesus” and you’ll go to sleep like a newborn babe!’ ”

“What’s the matter with him?” enquired Wolf. The girl fetched a blue tea-cosy from the recesses of a cupboard and pulled it down carefully over the teapot. Then she raised her eyes and looked straight at her guest; and for the flicker of a second her brisk, automatic personality displayed the troubled awareness of a conscious soul.