Thereupon followed a long conversation in questions and answers about the summer’s doings, with pleased eagerness on one side and loving sympathy on the other, until they knew all those little things which pen and paper never tell, and which therefore the letters which had passed between them had not contained.
“And now, Tom,” said Martha, when home and plantation news seemed to be exhausted, “I believe I’ve something to tell you. Mr. Sutherland said to me, as we rode up this morning, that he would like to keep you all winter if you were pleased to stay. He said that you understood his business, and did it well, and that you had wound yourself round the hearts of the people; although,” she added, “I did not need for him to tell me that, after Jimmy’s letter.”
“Jimmy?” asked Tom, in amaze.
“Yes,” laughed Martha. “Jimmy wrote Miss Mason and me a joint letter of confession of his own sins and praise of you. It was funny, but it was good. I will show it to you some day.”
Tom gave her a bright smile in answer, and asked her if there was anything more.
“Yes,” returned Martha. “Mr. Sutherland wants me to stay here too, to be a sort of waiting-maid for Miss Lillie. How do you like that?”
“My dear Martha, that is glorious,” said Tom, bringing his hands together with sudden joy. “There will be no discouragements if you are here.”
“But, Tom dear,” said Martha, “I would not stay, and I should not want to leave you, but in the fall the good people who sent Miss Mason to us in Huntsville are going to send a teacher to this plantation, and Mr. Sutherland is perfectly willing. So we may study yet, Tom.”
“There is no truer word in the world than that which God spake, Martha,” replied Tom, looking into her gentle, earnest face with glistening eyes: “‘All things work together for good to them that love God.’
‘Who trusts in God’s unchanging love,