"And if we wear what He has given us, we ought to be satisfied that it is right."
"Only some of us didn't always make the best of what He did give us," remarked Mrs. Blunt, with a little smile.
"We learn, don't we," asked Meg, "when He teaches us? Mrs. Blunt, I wish you'd get your husband to go with us to-morrow."
"What, in his working-clothes? He ain't got no others, my dear."
"Jem goes in his," said Meg.
"Yes; but a carpenter's different from a mason."
"It's cleaner work, of course; but I don't believe that our Father in Heaven minds a bit about clothes. He clothes us with the 'Best Robe,' and He looks at us in that."
"What do you mean by 'the best robe,' Mrs. Seymour?" asked the woman, still plying her needle as fast as she could. She had found in talking to Meg, that there was often a hidden meaning under some quaint little sentence.
"Don't you remember in the parable of the prodigal son, how the father says, 'Bring forth the best robe and put it on him?' It seems to me that that is how God looks at us. He covers over all our rags and tatters with the Robe of His Son's righteousness, and He looks at that instead of at our poor doings."
"I see," said Mrs. Blunt; "and I'll ask Blunt to think of what you say. I'm sure I miss goin' out of a Sunday dreadful; but I haven't been, I do believe, since the first year I was married."