The little fellow hung his head, and answered in a lower tone, "Mother don't want to see the minister's wife, for she has been at our house once."
"I am afraid," said Dora, as they passed on, "that this family is one whom it will be difficult to benefit."
"You will excuse me for keeping you in waiting so long," said Mrs. Cotting, as she entered the room where Dora and Emma had been seated for nearly an hour; "I understood the maid that it was Mrs. Lindsay herself, and I was in dishabille. My duties are so numerous and so pressing," continued Mrs. Cotting. "One might think that the cares of a family were sufficient for a wife and mother; but added to this, to have a whole parish upon one's hands." Here she paused and sighed.
"Your situation," replied Dora, "is indeed one of earnest duty and responsibility; but the abundant grace provided for our utmost need is found, I trust, sufficient for you."
Mrs. Cotting bowed, and Dora continued: "We will not take your time, madam, which must be fully occupied. We called to inquire respecting a family called Graffam, living upon the plain."
"I know them," said Mrs. Cotting, "as indeed I do every other poor family in town. These Graffams are very strange people. I called there with Mrs. Jefferson Motley, the wealthiest lady at the mills. Graffam had a child at that time lying at the point of death. He was at home, and, what is a rare thing, was sober; but neither he nor his wife seemed at all grateful for this attention from myself and Mrs. Motley. We were at that time hunting up children for the Sabbath school; and in our charitable work were not unwilling to visit the most degraded. We told Graffam and his wife so; and told them, moreover, that we were desirous to rescue their children from ignorance and infamy. I had a bundle of clothes for the children, which I offered to Mrs. Graffam, on condition that she would keep them clean; never allowing them to be worn in their own dirty hut, but saved expressly for the Sabbath school. Then I talked to her faithfully of her own evil ways, (for I had heard that she picked berries upon the Sabbath;) and what do you suppose the poor wretch did? Why she turned from the dying bed of her child, and looked Mrs. Motley and myself in the face, as though we were common acquaintances. 'Madam,' said she, 'your religion is not to my taste. I prefer our present ignorance, and even infamy, to what you have offered this morning. As for picking berries upon the Sabbath, I must refer that to Him of whom, I must confess, I know too little; but my parents taught me that God is just, and I believe that he will justly judge between the rich who pay their laborers in that which is neither money nor bread, and the mother who, for lack of bread, must break the Sabbath.' Think what an impudent thrust at Mrs. Motley!—her husband allows Graffam to take up the most of his wages in rum, I suppose. It was evident that this Mrs. Graffam was no subject for charity—she was too ungrateful and too insolent; so we came away, bringing the things with us. The child died, and they would not have Mr. Cotting to attend the funeral. Graffam went for old Mr. Sliver, who sat in silence with the family for about half an hour, and then was 'moved upon' to pray. The sexton said that Graffam and his wife sobbed aloud; but I have never ventured there again."
Dora and Emma now rose to depart, and in going away met Mr. Cotting at the door. Emma felt herself indebted to her minister, and, with the cordiality of true Christian friendship, returned his greeting.
"We are going to visit the family upon the plain," said she, as Mr. Cotting unfastened their horse, and was about to turn him the other way.
"Are you?" inquired he, "that is what I have not done myself, as yet; Mrs. Cotting received so ungracious a reception, that it rather discouraged me; if you are upon a visit of charity I hope that you will be better received."
"Charity ought to be kindly received everywhere," replied Emma, "since she is long-suffering and kind herself, not easily provoked, and certainly not provoking, because she never behaves herself unseemly."