“Mother, you know that Bessie Foulkes loved God, and feared Him, and cared to please Him, as you and I never did in all our lives. Do folks that love God go to Satan? Does He punish people because they want to please Him? I know little enough about it, alack-the-day! but if an angel came from Heaven to tell me Bessie wasn’t there this minute, I could not believe him.”
“Well, well! think what you will, child, only don’t say it! I’ve nothing against Bess being in Heaven, not I! I hope she may be, poor lass. But thou knowest thy father’s right set against it all, and the priests too; and, Amy, I don’t want to see thee on the waste by Lexden Road. Just hold thy tongue, wilt thou? or thou’lt find thyself in the wrong box afore long.”
“Mother, I don’t think Bessie Foulkes is sorry for what happened this morning.”
“Maybe not, but do hold thy peace!”
“I can hold my peace if you bid me, Mother. I’ve not been a good girl, but I mean to try and be better. I don’t feel as if I should ever care again for the gewgaws and the merrymakings that I used to think all the world of. It’s like as if I’d had a glimpse into Heaven as she went in, and the world had lost its savour. But don’t be feared, Mother; I’ll not vex you, nor Father neither, if you don’t wish me to talk. Only—nobody ’ll keep me from trying to go after Bessie!”
Chapter Thirty Four.
Dorothy takes a message.
“Now then, attend, can’t you? How much sugar?”