Buryin’ in his heart the scenes of his old happy life, and the overthrow of all his ambitious dreams, he wuz patiently workin’ on to make a home and a livelihood fur from all he had loved and lost.
I declare for ’t, I most cried to hear him go on, and his wife joinin’ in now and then; they told the truth, and are Christians, both on ’em, I hain’t a doubt.
Finally, we launched off on other subjects—on religion, etc.—and at the last he made a remark that gin me sunthin’ to think on all my way home to Belle Fanchon.
For I give up goin’ to Eden Centre that day. Good land! I had talked too much—I am afraid it is a weakness with me—anyway, there wuzn’t any time.
We wuz a talkin’ on religion, and faith, and the power of prayer, etc., and he sez:
“I enjoy religion, but I have got too much confidence in God.”
Sez I, “You mean you lack confidence in God.”
“Yes, that is it, I lack confidence in God, for I find that when I pray to Him for anything, if I don’t get an answer to it to once I make other arraingments.”
And I thought as I wended my way home, “Oh, how much, how much is Samantha and the hull human race like Mary Johnson; we besiege the throne of grace for some boon heart longed for and dear, and if the Lord does not answer at once our impassioned pleadin’s, we make other arraingments.