"'Twould be wisht to have all blank," declared Sarah Jane. "Take the mothers an' wives. What's the joy of heaven to them if they don't know things is going well with their children an' husbands?"
"'Tis almost too high a subject for common people, though I could wish for light upon it myself," said her father.
"Of course they know!" cried the woman. "Don't you believe as mother holds us in her thoughts and watches our goings? Such a worrying spirit as hers! Heaven wouldn't be no better than a foreign country, where she couldn't get letters, if you an' me was hidden from her."
Daniel felt uneasy.
"Knowing what she knows now, she would be content to leave it with God," he said.
"Not her," answered Sarah Jane. "A very suspicious nature, where those she loved was concerned."
"True. My wife could believe nought but her own eyes. She was built so. That's why she never would share my great opinions of Amicombe Hill. A very damping woman to a hopeful heart. A great trust in arithmetic she had; but for my part nought chills me like black figures on white paper. You can't draw much comfort from 'em most times."
"I'm like her," said Sarah Jane. "All for saying what I think. Father here's a dreamer."
"Hope's very good to work on, however; I hold with Mr. Friend there."
"Not so good as wages," said Sarah Jane.