She said she would like to go with us to hear
"Father Ballou," as he was called by the Universalist people, and Clara,
said:
"Well, Mrs. ----, the day is coming when all shall see and rejoice at
the knowledge they have long desired; this will be the real fruit that
has been promised by the hope of the soul for years; and it is not new,
it is an old, old truth, and for this reason there will be less
preparation needed to accept it. The soil is ready, and the hand of the
age will drop the seed in the furrows which the years have made."
"This talk is as good as a sermon," said Aunt Phebe, "I would like to
hear you every week. Learning the work of wisdom is not an easy task,
and all these thoughts come as helping hands to us; we are never too old
to learn."
Aunt Phebe was free from all vanity; she dressed simply, and was truly
economical. Her hands were never idle; she had always something to do;
and during the few days she spent with us she insisted on helping. A
huge basket of mending yielded to her deft hands, and patches and darns
were made without number. These were among our great necessities, for,
as in every other household, garments were constantly wearing out, and
stitches breaking that must be again made good, and nothing could be
appreciated more than her services in this direction. Mother felt,
however, that she was doing wrong to let her work at all.
"Phebe," I heard her say one afternoon, as they sat in our middle room
together, "you have stitches enough to take at home, and I feel
condemned to see you so busy here.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103