Chapter Thirteen.
A new friend for Christabel.
“O Aunt Tabitha! have you and Uncle Thomas been to Canterbury? and did you really see dear Aunt Alice? How looks she? and what said she? I do want to know, and Father never seems to see, somehow, the things I want. Of course I would not—he’s the best father that ever was, Aunt Tabitha, and the dearest belike; but somehow, he seems not to see things—”
“He’s a man,” said Aunt Tabitha, cutting short Christabel’s laboured explanation; “and men never do see, child. They haven’t a bit of gumption, and none so much wit. Ay, we’ve been; but we were late, and hadn’t time to tarry. Well, she looks white belike, as folks alway do when they be shut up from the air; but she seems in good health, and in good cheer enough. She was sat of the corner, hard by a woman that hath, said she, been a good friend unto her, and a right comfort, and who, said she, must needs have a share in all her good things.”
“Oh, I’m glad she has a friend in that dreadful place! What’s her name, Aunt, an’ it like you?”
“Didn’t say.”
“But I would like to pray for her,” said Christie with a disappointed look; “and I can’t say, ‘Bless that woman.’”
“Why not?” said Aunt Tabitha bluntly. “Art ’feared the Lord shall be perplexed to know which woman thou meanest, and go and bless the wrong one?”