"
"What did your mother say?"
"She said 'Oh, Mrs. Rheid, it won't be if you get to Heaven, at last.'"
"I think not."
"But she doesn't expect to go to Heaven, she says. Mother says she's
almost in 'despair' and she pities her so!"
"Poor woman! I don't see how she can live through despair. The old
proverb 'If it were not for hope, the heart would break,' is most
certainly true."
"Why didn't you come before?" asked Marjorie, caressing the hand that
still played with the fan.
"Perhaps you never lived on a farm and cannot understand. I could not
come in the ox-cart because the oxen were in the field, and every day
since I heard of your accident your uncle has had to drive your aunt to
Portland on some business. And I did not feel strong enough to walk until
this morning."
"How good you are to walk!"
"As good as you are to walk to see me."
"Oh, but I am young and strong, and I wanted to see you so, and ask you
questions so."
"I believe the latter," said Miss Prudence smiling.
"Well, I'm happy now," Marjorie sighed, with the burden of her trouble
still upon her. "Suppose I had been killed when I fell and had not told
you about the pitcher nor made amends for it."
"I don't believe any of us could be taken away without one moment to make
ready and not leave many things undone--many tangled threads and rough
edges to be taken care of. We are very happy if we have no sin to
confess, no wrong to make right."
"I think Hollis would have taken care of the plate for me," said
Marjorie, simply; "but I wanted to tell you myself.
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