Who Has Fallen into Love

O God, I thank Thee who sent this great adventure my way!
I am grateful to have come out of the barren land of
spinsterhood, seeing the glory of a love greater than myself.
I thank Thee for teaching me that mixing, and kneading, and
baking are not all that life holds for me. Even if he doesn't
love me, God, I shall always be his.

I was crooning some such babble as this to myself when, near
Woodbridge, I came upon a big, shiny motor car stranded by the
roadside. Several people, evidently intelligent and well-to-do,
sat under a tree while their chauffeur fussed with a tire. I was
so absorbed in my own thoughts that I think I should have gone
by without paying them much heed, but suddenly I remembered the
Professor's creed--to preach the gospel of books in and out of
season. Sunday or no Sunday, I thought I could best honour Mifflin
by acting on his own principle. I pulled up by the side of the road.

I noticed the people turn to one another in a kind of surprise, and
whisper something. There was an elderly man with a lean, hard-worked
face; a stout woman, evidently his wife; and two young girls and a
man in golfing clothes. Somehow the face of the older man seemed
familiar. I wondered whether he were some literary friend of
Andrew's whose photo I had seen.

Bock stood by the wheel with his long, curly tongue running in and
out over his teeth. I hesitated a moment, thinking just how to
phrase my attack, when the elderly gentleman called out: