“You shouldn’t do it, anyway,” he said savagely. “You have enough care now for three women!—Mary, the draft didn’t come.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “But, John, we’ll get along some way. It can’t last forever. The draft may come next week. And I was joking about the potatoes. We’ve a lot left.”
“It isn’t just the money,” he said, shaking his head despondently; “it’s the feeling of aloneness in the work. If I felt that the church back of us was doing all it could, it would not be so hard—this ‘hope deferred that maketh the heart sick.’ But sometimes I think—they don’t care.”
“They do, John—they do! Don’t allow yourself to think that. Why, look at this barrel! I know this is from some missionary society, and would any church send us this unless they knew about our work and were thinking of us? Why, of course not! Tell me about the barrel.”
“Well, I went to the post-office the first thing to get the draft. I found instead a letter from this First Church, saying they had sent us a barrel. I went over to the freight office and there it was. I didn’t have enough—”
“How providential that it came before Christmas!” she interrupted. “I’m crazy to see what’s in it! Aren’t you?”
He did not answer the question directly, being far from feeling her jubilance about it. “We’ll open it after a while,” he said evasively. In his heart he was protesting, “No! I don’t want their barrel! I want my money!”
“But not until the children are off. There will be Christmas things in it that they mustn’t see.... You got the candy, John? But of course you did.”
Her question was unanswered, but she did not notice it.
“Now I really think the animals will have to come in,” she said gayly. “You can be trainer for an hour while this keeper clears up the dishes.”