“We mustn’t think of ourselves,” said the parson. “Poor Mrs. Pepper!” and he sighed.
“I know it, and yet you did right to advise her to let Polly go,” Mrs. Henderson peered anxiously up into his face.
“I’m not a bit sorry that I did so advise,” declared Parson Henderson firmly. “Almira, it is a clear case of the working of Providence for that girl to have the chance.” He stopped short on the garden path.
“I know it,” cried his wife gleefully, “think of the music! Oh, Adoniram, how Polly has longed for a chance to learn to play.”
She clasped her hands and the smile ran up to capture the anxiety in her face.
“I do think. I think of all the good that will come of the visit.” The parson began his walk once more, this time with a stride. Mrs. Henderson trotted by his side, trying to keep up with him.
“Don’t go so fast, husband,” she begged.
“Yes,” as he slackened his pace, “and another thing. We ought to consider how much the Peppers are indebted to Jasper. If it hadn’t been for him—just think.” She ran her hand within his arm.
“That’s the reason I was able to persuade Mrs. Pepper to let Polly go,” cried Mr. Henderson. “She put aside everything else, when she saw that she could do this for the boy.”
“Yes—yes. Oh, I’m so glad. But, O dear,” she couldn’t for the life of her keep from adding, “those children—can you imagine what they are going to do without Polly!”