Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from Four Feet on a Fender: Quiet Hour Our Talks With Women
When I was a child I had a friend whom I can never forget. She was the Quiet Lady who lived across the street. I think of her still as the Quiet Lady. She was one of those women whose lot in life is to bear many burdens with little aid from the inspiration of human friend ships; yet her face was the most perfect pic ture of peace and contentment I have ever known. It used to make me feel that She had just been talking to the angels. I would go over to see her every day and I knew her ways. Every morning, when the rush of household cares was over, She would take her Bible into the quiet parlor and lock the door. I often wondered what. She did, for not a sound would come from the room for half an hour. Then I would hear the click of the lock, and the door would Open; and though I was but a little child, I must have seen the glimmer of a new light in her face, for I felt that something had hap.
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