"That's true, Richard Morton," said Mr. Yocomb. "I like peace and quiet more than most men, but even if we had all burned up last night, this part of the world would have been wonderfully the better for the storm. I reckon it was worth a million or more dollars to the county."
"That's the right way to look at it, Mr. Yocomb," I said carelessly. "The greatest good to the greatest number. Individuals are of no account."
"Your philosophy may be true, but I don't like it," Miss Warren protested. "A woman doesn't generalize."
"Thy philosophy is only half true, Richard Morton. God cares for each one of His children, and every one in my house counts for much to me."
"There's no getting ahead of thee, mother. If we want to talk heresy,
Richard Morton, we must go off by ourselves."
"I think God showed His love for us in a queer way last night," said
Adah, abruptly.
Both her father and mother looked pained at this speech, and Mrs.
Yocomb said gravely:
"Thee'll see things in the true light some day, I hope. The lightning bolt may have been a message from Heaven to thee."
"It seems to me that Zillah got more of the message than I did, and she didn't need any," said the matter-of-fact Adah, "At any rate I hope Richard Morton may be here if I ever get another message."
"I shall surely be struck next time," I laughed, a trifle bitterly; "for according to Mrs. Yocomb's view I need a message more than any of you."