JACK.
This was the sort of message that had been coming to Susanna of late, bringing up little pictures of home duties and responsibilities, homely tasks and trials. “John giving up the store for good”; what did that mean? Had he gone from bad to worse in the solitude that she had hoped might show him the gravity of his offenses, the error of his ways? In case she should die, what then would become of the children? Would Louisa accept the burden of Jack, for whom she had never cared? Would the Shakers take Sue? She would be safe; perhaps she would always be happy; but brother and sister would be divided and brought up as strangers. Would little Sue, grown to big Sue, say some time or other, “My mother renounced the world for herself, but what right had she to renounce it for me? Why did she rob me of the dreams of girlhood and the natural hopes of women, when I was too young to give consent?” These and other unanswerable questions continually drifted through Susanna's mind, disturbing its balance and leaving her like a shuttlecock bandied to and fro between conflicting blows.
“Mardie,” came a soft little voice from across the room; “Mardie, what is a backslider?”
“Where did you hear that long word, Sue?” asked Susanna, rousing herself from her dream.
“'T is n't so long as 'regenerating' and more easier.”
“Regenerating means 'making over,' you know.”
“There'd ought to be children's words and grownup words,—that's what I think,” said Sue, decisively; “but what does 'backslider' mean?”
“A backslider is one who has been climbing up a hill and suddenly begins to slip back.”
“Does n't his feet take hold right, or why does he slip?”
“Perhaps he can't manage his feet;—perhaps they just won't climb.” 295