In the afternoon Agnes came over, punctually, with her balls and skeins of worsted, and was soon at work on her afghan, as pleasant and cordial as possible. Like some other passionate people, she never remembered a word that she had said, after her passion was over, and wondered very much that any one else could.
Letty was not disposed to remember it, either. She knew her cousin of old; and moreover, Letty had lately found a well of peace springing up in her own heart, independent of outward circumstances,—a fountain whose clear waters no storms could disturb. God kept her mind in perfect peace, because it was stayed on Him. She was conscious that this calm light might not always be vouchsafed to her; but that did not hinder her from rejoicing in the Bridegroom's presence so long as the Bridegroom was with her.
Mary's stout arms carried Madge across the street and deposited her upon Letty's sofa. It was curious and touching to see how the strong, rough girl, who used to quarrel with and tease her from morning till night, had softened towards the child in her helpless condition. She was never weary of walking with Madge, or of cooking nice little things for her; and she would have devoted her whole time to her, if Agnes had permitted it.
"Joe told me to say he would come over to tea, Letty, if he will not be in your way. He wants to talk with John."
"Perhaps your mother would come too."
"Oh, she is busy," said Agnes, carelessly. "She could not spend the time."
"Sure, Mrs. Emerson," said Mary, "I might finish the quinces and let the old lady come over."
"You will do nothing of the kind: you have all your own work to do," returned Agnes. "It is so hard to make her know her place," said Agnes, as Mary went out. "That is the great trouble with servants in our country."
"You should be your own servant, as I am, and then you would be sure not to have any trouble in that way," said Letty.
"Why, don't you mean to keep Jane?"