sorry," said Rotha bitterly. "I will see if I can find some way of earning the money, Mrs. Purcell, so that I can pay you for the cost and trouble I put you to. But I must have time for that; and meanwhile, what will you do?"
"Us wouldn't think so much of it," Mrs. Purcell went on, "if she didn't set up for bein' somethin' o' extras. I don't make no count o' no such Christians. Mis' Busby wouldn't miss the Communion!--" And the speaker looked up at Rotha, as if to see what she thought on the subject.
"There are different sorts of Christians," said Rotha. "Meanwhile, how shall we arrange things, Mrs. Purcell?"
"Will all sorts of Christians get to heaven," was Mrs. Purcell's response, the query put with her sharp black eyes as well as with her lips.
"Why no! Of course not. Christians are not all alike; but it is only true Christians whom the Lord will call his own."
"How aint they alike? how is they different?"
"Real Christians? Well--some of them are ignorant, and some are wise. Some have had good teachings and good helpers, and some have had none; it makes a difference."
"I thought they was all one."
"So they are, in the main things. They all love Christ, and trust in his blood, and do his will. So far as they know it, at least. 'Whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother.' So Jesus said, when he was upon earth."
Mrs. Purcell stopped in what she was doing and looked up at Rotha. "That aint in my 'little blue John,'" she said.
"No, I think the words are in Matthew."
"And aint no other people Christians, but them as is like that?"
"You know what is written in the fourteenth chapter of John--'He that hath my commandments and _keepeth them_, he it is that loveth me.'"
"And aint there no other sort?" inquired Mrs. Purcell, still peering into Rotha's eyes.
"Of Christians? Certainly not. Not of real Christians. How could there be?"
"Then I don't believe there aint none."
"O yes, there are! Many, many. True believers and servants of the Lord Jesus."
"Then Prissy Purcell never see one of 'em," said the woman decidedly.
It shot through Rotha's mind, how careful she must be. This woman's whole faith in Christianity might depend on how she behaved herself. She stood soberly thinking, and then came back to the immediate matter in hand.
"I will pay you, Mrs. Purcell, for my cost and trouble, if ever I can," she said. "That is all I can say. I would go away, if I could. I do not want to be here."
"It's hard on you, that's a fact," said the woman. "Well, us won't make it no harder, Joe and me. We aint starvin'. Joe, he's money laid up; and us always has victuals to eat; victuals enough; and good, what they is, for Joe won't have nothin' else. I don' know if you can like 'em. But I can't go up all them stairs."
"I will take care of my own room. Cannot you call me when dinner is ready, in some way?"
"Joe can holler at you. He can go out and holler."
"I'll have my window open, and I shall hear. And some day, Mrs. Purcell, I will pay you."
"All right," said the woman, whose face was completely cleared up and looked pleasanter than Rotha could ever have believed possible. "Prissy Purcell will get you a good dinner."
So the storm was laid; and Rotha went slowly up stairs, feeling devoutly thankful for that, but very, very sorrowful on her own account. Her, fancy was busy, all the while she was putting her room in order, with the possible future; feeling utterly doubtful of her aunt, in every possible respect, and very sad and depressed in view of her condition and in view of the extreme difficulty of mending it. Then flashed into her mind what she had been saying down stairs; and then, what she had been reading and thinking last night. To do her work, to trust the Lord, and _to be content_, were the duties that lay nearest to hand.
The duties were far easier to see than to fulfil; however, Rotha took hold of the easiest first, and prayed her way toward the others. She got out her sewing; obviously, Mrs. Busby knew what she was about when she provided those calico dresses. The stuff was strong and troublesome to sew; the needle went through hard. Rotha sewed on it all day; and indeed for many days more. She kept at her work diligently, as I said, praying her way toward perfect trust and quiet content. In her solitude she made her Bible her companion; one may easily have a worse; and setting it open at some word of command or promise, she refreshed herself with a look at it from time to time, and while her needle flew, turned over the words in her mind and wrought them into prayer. And indeed Rotha had loved her Bible before; but after two weeks of this way of life she loved it after a new fashion, such as she had never known. It became sweet inexpressibly, and living; so that she seemed to hear the words spoken to her from heaven. And those days of solitary work grew into some of the loveliest days Rotha had ever seen. She would take her "Treasury," choose some particular thought or promise to start with, and from that go through a series of passages, explaining, elucidating, illustrating, enjoining, conditioning, applying, the original word. The care of her room, and carrying water up and down, gave her some exercise; not enough; but Rotha would not indulge herself with out of door amusement till her mantua making was done.
She hoped for some temporary release from her prison when Sunday came. She was disappointed. May sent another pouring rain, and no going out was to be thought of.
"Where do you go to church? when the sun shines," asked Rotha, as she sat at the breakfast-table and looked at the rain driving past the window. Silence answered her at first.
"Where _do_ you go, Joe?" repeated his wife, with a laugh. "Us is wicked folks, Miss Carpenter. Joe, he don't like to tell on hisself; but 'taint no worse to tell 'u not to tell. So Prissy Purcell thinks."
"Warn't the Sabbath made for rest?" Joe inquired now, with a gleam in his eyes.
"For rest from our own work," said Rotha wonderingly.
"Prissy and me, we haint no other; and it's a blessin' we haven't, for we get powerful tired at that. Aint that so, Prissy?"
"Don't you go to church anywhere?"
"Aint anywheres to go!" said Joe. "Aint no church nowheres, short o' Tanfield; and there's a difficulty. Suppos'n' I tackled up the bosses and went to Tanfield; by the time we got there, and heerd a sermon, and come back, and untackled, and put the hosses up and cleaned myself again, my day o' rest 'ud be pretty much nowhere. An' I don' know which sermon I'd want to hear, o' the three, if I was there. I aint no Episcopal; and I never did hold with the Methody's; and 'tother man, I'd as lieve set up a dip candle and have it preach to me. Looks like it, too."
Rotha was in silent dismay. Tanfield was too far to go on foot and alone. Not even Sunday? I am afraid a good part of that Sunday was wasted in tears.
The next morning brought a fresh difficulty. It suddenly flashed upon Rotha that she must have some clothes washed.
That she should ask Mrs. Purcell to do it, was out of the question. That she should hire somebody else to do it, was equally out of the question. There remained--her own two hands.
Her hands. Must she put them into the wash tub? Must they be roughened and reddened by hard work in hot and cold water? I am afraid pride had something to say here, besides the fastidious delicacy of refinement to which for a long while Rotha bad been accustomed, and which exactly suited the nature that was born with the girl. She went through a hard struggle and a painful one, before she could take meekly what was put upon her. But it _was_ put upon her; there was no other way; and there is no mistake and no oversight in God's dealings with his children. What he does not want them to do, he does not give them to do. It cost Rotha a good while of her time that morning, but at last she did see it, and then she accepted it. If God gave it to her to do, there could be no evil in the doing of it, and no hurt, and no disgrace. What she could do for God, was therewith lifted up out of the sphere of the low and common. Even the censers of Korah's wicked company were holy, because they had been used for the Lord; m
uch more simple service from a believing heart. After a while Rotha's mind swung quite clear of all its embarrassments, and she saw her duty clear and took it up willingly. She went down at once then to the kitchen, where Mrs. Purcell was flying about with double activity. It certainly seemed that the rest of the Sunday had added wings to her heels.
"Do you wash this morning, Mrs. Purcell?"
"Yes. I aint one o' them as likes shovin' it off till the end o' the week. If I can't wash