Owen did not reply at once; he fancied there was some hidden meaning in Mrs. Mitchell's words, but he did not understand what it was. He turned to his book, and for a while there was silence, only broken by the sound of the iron on the board.
Presently he looked up, and asked, "Did father say when he would be in, Mrs. Mitchell?"
"No, he said he wasn't sure, but he should not be late."
"You knew my mother, didn't you? I wish she had lived till now."
"Ah, you may well wish that. A sweeter and a better woman never lived. Yes, I knew her, and tended her in her last illness. She was a rich woman, too."
"A rich woman! how do you make that out?"
"Rich in faith, and love, and good works; those are the riches that last, Owen. You will never be rich unless you come to the Saviour."
"Squire Rowland is rich, and he isn't——" Owen paused for a suitable word—"you know what I mean, Mrs. Mitchell; he does not go to church, or visit the poor."
"No, I fear he is not a child of God, poor man. He is rich in this world's goods; but this world will not last for ever, and we shall live on after this world is burnt up. So it is best to have riches we can take with us. Better be poor here, and rich in the world to come, than rich on earth, to pine in miserable poverty for ever."
"But will all rich men be poor in the other world?"