The wheel was humming a quick measure, and Dorothy trod lightly back and forth, the wheel-pin in one hand, the other upraised holding the tense, lengthening thread, which the spindle devoured again.
"Dorothy, thee looks warm:—can't thee sit down a moment, while I talk to thee?"
"Is it anything important, mother? I want to get my twenty knots before dinner." She paused as she joined a long tress of wool at the spindle. "Is it anything about father?"
"Yes, it's about father, and all of us."
"I know," said Dorothy, stretching herself back with a sigh. "He's going away again!"
"Yes, dear. He feels that he is called. It is a time of trouble and contention everywhere,—'the harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few.'"
"There are not so many 'laborers' here, mother, though to be sure, the harvest—"
"Dorothy, my daughter! don't let a spirit of levity creep into thy speech. Thy father has striven and wrestled with his urgings. I've seen it working on him all winter; he feels now it is the Lord's will."
"I don't see how he can be so sure," said Dorothy, swaying gloomily to and fro against the wheel. "I don't care for myself,—I'm not afraid of work,—but thee's not able to do what thee does now, mother. If I have outside things to look after, how can I help thee as I should? The boys are about as much dependence as a flock of barn swallows!"
"Don't fret about me, dear; the way will open. Thy father has thought and planned for us; have patience while I tell thee. Thee knows Walter Evesham's pond is small and his mill is doing a thriving business?"