“The Word ought to flavour everything, in season or out of season,” said Anne, thoughtfully.
“Oh! that’s impossible. It’s your narrow view. If you thrust preaching into everything, we can never work together.”
“Oh, then,” said Anne, quickly, “I must give it up!” And she turned away with a rapid step, to carry her texts back to her room.
“Anne!” called Cecil, “I did not mean that!”
Anne paused for a moment, looked over the baluster, and repeated firmly, “No, Cecil; it would be denying Christ to work where His Name is forbidden.”
Perhaps there was something in the elevation and the carved rail that gave the idea of a pulpit, for Cecil felt as if she was being preached at, and turned her back, indignant and vexed at what she had by no means intended to incur—the loss of such a useful assistant as she found in Anne.
“Such nonsense!” she said to herself, as she crossed the hall alone, there meeting with Rosamond, equipped for the village. “Is not Anne going to-day?” she said, as she saw the pony-carriage at the door.
“No. It is so vexatious. She is so determined upon preaching to the women, that I have been obliged to put a stop to it.”
“Indeed! I should not have thought it of poor Anne; but no one can tell what those semi-dissenters think right.”
“When she declared she ought to do it in season or out of season, what was one to do?” said Cecil.