“Then, Madam, as I suppose the clergy are going to Heaven (and I am sure you would be as sorry to think otherwise as I should), if the way to get there is their business and not yours, where are you going, if you please?”
Grandmamma looked at my Aunt Kezia as if she thought that she must have taken leave of her wits.
“Madam! I—I do not understand—”
My Aunt Kezia did not flinch in the least. She stood quietly looking into Grandmamma’s face, with an air of perfect simplicity, and waited for the answer.
“Of course, we—we are all going to Heaven,” said Grandmamma, in a hesitating way. “But it is the business of the clergy to see that we do. Excuse me, Madam; I am not accustomed to—to talk about such subjects.”
And Grandmamma took two pinches, one after the other.
“Well, you see, I am,” coolly said my Aunt Kezia. “Seems to me, Madam, that going to Heaven is every bit as much my business as going to Gloucester; and I have not left that for the clergy to see to, nor do I see why I should the other. Folks don’t always remember what you trust them with, and sometimes they can’t manage the affair. And I take the liberty to think they’ll find that matter rather hard to do, without I see to it as well, and without the Lord sees to it beside. Farewell, Madam; I shall be glad to meet you up there, and I do hope you’ll make sure you’ve got on the right road, for it would be uncommon awkward to find out at last that it was the wrong one. Good-morrow, and God bless you!”
Not a word came in answer, but I just glanced back through the crack of the door, and saw Grandmamma sitting with the reddest face I ever did see to her, and two big wrinkles in her forehead, taking pinch after pinch in the most reckless manner.
My Aunt Dorothea, who stood in the door, said acidly,—“I think, Madam, it would have been as well to keep such remarks till you were alone with my mother. I do not know how it may be in Cumberland, but they are not thought becoming to a gentlewoman here. Believe me, I am indeed sorry to be forced to the discourtesy of saying so; but you were the first offender.”
“Ay,” said my Aunt Kezia. “Folks that tell the naked truth generally meet with more kicks than halfpence. But I would have spoken out of these girls’ hearing, only I got never a chance. And you see I shall have to give in my account some day, and I want it to be as free from blots as I can.”