“Thank’ee. If you want any help, Mrs. Whitcomb, send right straight over. Ministers are always the chosen of the Lord, and I feel as if one ought to come at their call.”
“I am much obliged,” returned Mrs. Whitcomb, in her quiet, lady-like way.
Mrs. Downs took her departure at the same moment. There was a great bustle, and talking; but father finally succeeded in getting them to the porch. When Aunt Letty was safely off the steps, she turned and said,—
“I’m glad you are so well satisfied, Mr. Endicott. It’s a sure sign of grace to take thankfully what the Lord sends.”
“O, dear,” said papa, with a sigh; “I am afraid I don’t give thanks for quite everything. ‘Tribulation worketh patience.’ But didn’t those women almost set you crazy? If I thought another sermon on bridling the tongue would do any good; I should preach it next Sunday.”
Mrs. Whitcomb smiled and said, in her cool, silvery voice,—
“It takes a great deal of powder and shot to kill a man in battle, and it takes a great deal of preaching to save a soul.”
“Yes. I get almost discouraged when I find how strong the old Adam is in human souls.”
I looked at papa rather reproachfully; but just then he opened the door of mamma’s room, and called me thither.
Mamma was very sweet and lovely. She kissed me many times, and hoped I would prove a trusty house-keeper, and see that papa had everything he needed, especially to notice that his cuffs and handkerchiefs were clean, and that he was in nice order on Sunday.