"Two cups flour, four teaspoonfuls baking powder, one of sugar, one of salt, two of butter, two of lard, cup half water, half milk, pour in pan greased and bake in hot oven. Scotch scone-bread for lunch," she said, almost suiting the deed to the word. "Is Mr. Rath still here?"
"No, he's gone."
"You know, Jane, he's caught your religion. I never heard anything like it. He's got the whole thing pat. I'd be almost scared to go round teaching a thing like that. Why, folks'll be doing anything they please soon. I've been wondering if I could get strong enough to kind of dispose of Matilda, in some perfectly right way, you know. I wouldn't think of anything that wasn't perfectly right, you know."
Jane seemed a little numb and stood watching the buttering of the scone-pan without speaking.
"I keep saying: 'Matilda doesn't want to come back. Matilda's disposed of in a perfectly pleasant way.' I've been saying it ever since I began on those scones. I guess I've said it twenty times, and I'm beginning to make a real impression on myself. I'm beginning to feel sure God is fixing things up. It's too beautiful to feel God taking an interest in your affairs. Matilda doesn't want to come home. Matilda is completely disposed of in a perfectly pleasant way." Susan's accents were very emphatic.
"Auntie," said Jane, turning her eyes towards her and rallying her attention by a strong effort, "you know your perfect faith is because Aunt Matilda really isn't anxious to come home. It's only if you're doubting that there's any doubt about it. One doesn't alter Destiny, one only apprehends it. Oh, dear," she said though, sitting down suddenly, and hiding her face in her hands, "the thing about light is that it always keeps bursting over you with a new light, and my own teaching has suddenly come to me as if I'd never known what any of it meant before. I'm too stunned at seeing how I've limited myself. I'm really too stupid."
Susan glanced at her as she poured the batter into the pan, and then kept glancing. Her face grew softened, "I wouldn't worry, dear," she said finally, "don't you bother over anything. God's taking care of everything and everybody. It's every bit of it all right. You must know that yourself, or you never could have taught it to me."
"Yes, I do know it,—but in spite of myself I can't see—I can't dare think—"
"You told me not to worry over old Mrs. Croft," said Susan, coming around by her side and putting her arm about her; "you said worry spoiled everything. And I did try so hard."
"Yes, I know, I'll try. I really will—But—" suddenly she turned deep crimson, "it seems too awful for me to take one minute to work on myself or my life. I need all my time for others."