“It was not that I hadna time. I wasna carin’.”
“I am sorry to hear you say that. The meetings are a means of grace which have been blessed to many; and though there may be some things said now and then which—are not just for edification, yet—”
Allison shook her head.
“I didna hear them. I mean I wasna heedin’.”
“Well, I will not say that my own attention does not wander sometimes. Some things are more important than others,” said the minister’s wife, a name or two passing through her mind, which it would not have been wise to utter even to the silent Allison; “but,” added she, “we can all join in the Psalms and in the prayers.”
Allison’s answer was a slow movement of her head from side to side, and a look sadder than words. A pang of sympathy smote through the soft heart of her mistress.
“Allie,” said she, laying her hand on her arm, “you pray also?”
“Lang syne—I used to pray—maybe. I’m no’ sure.”
She had left her work and was standing erect, with her hands, loosely clasped, hanging down before her. Her eyes, with the same hopeless look in them, were turned toward the window, through which the relenting sun was sending one bright gleam before he went away, after a day of mist and rain.
