“I think it would, my child,” said Gerhardt; “but God knoweth best, and He let thy father go. Sometimes what seems to us the best work is not the work God has appointed for us.”
Had Gerhardt wished to drive away Anania, he could not have taken a surer method than by words which savoured of piety. She resembled a good many people in the present day, who find the Bread of Life very dry eating, and if they must swallow a little of it, can only be persuaded to do so by a thick coating of worldly butter. They may be coaxed to visit the church where the finest anthem is sung, but that where the purest Gospel is preached has no attraction for them. The porter’s wife, therefore, suddenly discovered that she had plenty to do at home, and took her departure, much to the relief of the friends on whom she inflicted herself. She had not been gone many minutes when Stephen looked in.
“Lads not come in yet?” said he. “Well, have you seen the grand sight? The Queen’s gone again; she only stayed for supper at the Castle, and then off to Woodstock. She’ll not be there above a month, they say. She never tarries long in England at once. But the King’s coming back this autumn—so they say.”
“Who say?” asked Gerhardt.
“Oh, every body,” said Stephen with a laugh, as he leaned over the half-door.
“Every body?” inquired Gerhardt drily.
“Oh, come, you drive things too fine for me. Every body, that is anybody.”
“I thought every body was somebody.”
“Not in this country: maybe in yours,” responded Stephen, still laughing. “But I’m forgetting what I came for. Aunt Isel, do you want either a sheep or a pig?”
“Have you got ’em in that wallet on your back?”