"Nothing, Miss Vickary, nothing? All one's years of hard, if humble, toil in the Lord's vineyard, one's ministrations to the Saints—nothing? And poor Joseph's wealth, it was but a modest sum—"
"So modest no one's ever heard. It's mock poverty yours, and you know it."
"But one's humble manner of life should show—"
"Folk as are mean aren't always poor."
"Aunt!" pleaded Martha feebly.
"Mean; dear Miss Vickary, may you one day regret that unjust word. Far be it from one to speak of all that one has given to the gospel work in Torribridge, of all that one has lent to the Lord. Yet what are worldly riches? One cares only for the unsearchable riches of Christ. What are the earthly gifts one may have given away? One has given to many a greater gift far. Not only the knowledge of Salvation, but a Christian deed here, a helping hand there—"
"Open sepulchre! Helping hand—like when Rachel and Christian lay dying, and you forbade Martha to leave Torribridge even for a few hours to come and help her mother. Let your wife's mother half kill herself, and her brother and sister crawl into their graves before you'd let her move. 'Couldn't spare her' from the side of yer 'dear little son'—ugly little brat, I'm glad you've not brought him here today."
Now there was a spice of righteous protest in the meek voice. "Pray what has one's poor little son done to be so spoken of? Or one's dear wife to hear him so spoken of?"
Martha was silently wiping her eyes. Aunt Jael, struggling with temper, made no reply.
"Or oneself to see one's wife so wounded? One has never forgiven oneself for not realizing till alas too late how near the end dear Rachel and dear Christian were; but at the time one's little baby-boy was ailing, and Martha none too strong. One was selfish, perhaps."