"If you are an infidel, Niece Leighton, you had better keep your infidelities to yourself!" said Mrs. Philippa with great asperity. "I have not come to my time of life, to be reproved by a chit out of a French convent."
"I beg your pardon, aunt!" Amabel answered gravely and gently, though the color rose in her cheeks.
Mrs. Deborah made her a sign to be silent, and helped her to a great piece of marmalade, and the breakfast was finished without another word from any one.
But we were not to get away just yet. It turned out that one of the horses had lost a shoe, and the coach had a screw loose somewhere, so we were fain to wait two hours till the village blacksmith could supply what was wanted. The elder ladies occupied themselves in knitting. Mrs. Deborah being engaged on a substantial pair of hose for some poor person, and Mrs. Chloe on a counterpane, which had been in hand for some years. Mrs. Philippa lay on the hard sofa and fretted at the delay. And Amabel and I explored the great old house, found our way into the kitchen, and made friends with the hostess and her mother, a pretty neat old woman, who sat all day in a warm corner, and read in her great Bible.
"Yes, mother is a grand scholar!" said the good woman proudly. "She reads in the Bible from morning till night, and now she has gotten another book, which a traveling gentleman gave her, who staid here one night. He was one of these new light People—what is this they call them?"
"Methodists!" suggested Amabel.
"Yes, Methodists! Gaffer Thistlethwaite says, they are only Papists in disguise, and mean to bring in the Pretender, and the Pope. Do you think that can be true, mistress?" asked the woman with some anxiety.
"Oh, no!" said Amabel. "They are not in the least like Papists. We know Mr. Wesley very well, and he is a clergyman of the church of England."
"I'm heartily glad to hear it!" answered the good woman, evidently much relieved. "The gentleman was that kind and civil spoken, and said such good words, I did not like to think ill of him. He gave mother a book with fine verses in it. Show it to the young ladies, mother."
The old woman pulled out a book from her pocket, which turned out to be a volume of Mr. Charles Wesley's hymns, then lately put out. She was wonderfully pleased, when we read some of them to her. I never saw a nicer old woman, and it was a pleasure to see her age made so happy, by the consolations of religion, and the respectful care of her daughter and grandchildren. She was able to spin, she told us, and showed us some very nice thread of her spinning.