"Besides, we could not get to Salem before four o'clock now, if Sweetbriar went his best and prettiest."
"I give it up. Let us turn and go home."
"If we turn and go back the way we came, I do not think I shall be able to get this self-willed animal past my own gate."
"Well, what do you mean to do?" said the lady bitterly. "Ride on up to Topsfield?"
Master Joseph laughed. "No—there is a road strikes off towards your house a short distance above here, and I think I can get you home by it, without any further trouble."
"Very well—get me home as soon as you can. I do not feel like any further riding, or much more talking."
"Of course it is very aggravating," replied Master Putnam soothingly, "but then you know as Master Parris says, that all these earthly disappointments are our most valuable experiences—teaching us not to set our hopes upon worldly things, but upon those of a more enduring and satisfying character."
His sister-in-law's face, that he could not see, she being behind him, wore a look as she listened to this, which could be hardly called evangelical.
"You wished very much I know to go this afternoon to Salem," continued Master Joseph, in the same sermonizing tone; "but doubtless your wish has been overruled for good. I think, as a member of church, you should be willing to acquiesce patiently in the singular turn that affairs have taken, and console yourself with the thought that you have been innocently riding these peaceful roads instead of being in Salem, doing perchance an infinite deal of mischief."
"No doubt what you are saying seems to you very wise and edifying, Joseph Putnam, but I have a bad headache, and do not care to converse any further."