“What’s that for?”
“For my hat! You can tell Beatrice, if you like, she won’t be the best-dressed maid at church next Sunday.”
“I should never suppose she would,” was the quiet reply.
“Oh, I saw her blue ribbons! But I’ll be as grand as she, you’ll see now. Mother sent me to buy her a coif, and I got this for the money too. Don’t you wish you were me?”
“No, Friswith, I don’t think I do,” said Penuel gravely.
“That’s because you think Mother will scold. I’ll stand up to her if she do. She’s always bidding us stand up to folks, and I’ll see how she likes it herself a bit!”
With which very dutiful speech, Friswith took her departure.
Penuel looked after her for a moment, and then, with a shake of her head which meant more than words, turned back to Patience and the hymn.
“Now, little Patience, try to learn the next verse. I will say it over to thee.
“‘And in the presence of my foes
My table Thou shalt spread;
Thou shalt, O Lord, fill full my cup,
And eke anoint my head.’”