“We’ve got to look to ourselves!” said the farmer.
“Parson used to say there was One as took that off our hands!” replied Sarah.
“Yes, yes,” assented Mr. Goodenough, fidgeting a little; “but the Almighty helps them as helps themselves, and that’s sound doctrine. You really must do something, Sarah! We can’t have you on the parish, you know!”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but until the child here is provided for, or until they turn us out of the parsonage, I will not leave the place.”
“The furniture is advertised for sale. You’ll have nothing but the bare walls!”
“We’ll manage to keep each other warm!—Shan’t we, Clare?”
“I will try to keep you warm, Sarah,” responded the boy sadly.
“But the new parson will soon be here. Our souls must be cared for!” said the farmer.
“Is the Lord’s child that came from heaven in an earthquake to be turned out into the cold for fear the souls of big men should perish?”
“Something must be done about it!” said the farmer. “What it’s to be I can’t tell! It’s no business o’ mine any way!”