“No; that is only the beginning. She was a disciple. And disciples always love each other and work for each other.”
“Do they?” asked Judith, her face glowing. Why, that was splendid and easy.
“And she worked for widows and perhaps for their little children, and they loved her dearly. But she died, and oh, how they grieved! They sent for another disciple, Peter; they thought he could help them. His faith was so great that he kneeled down and prayed; then he spoke to her, and she opened her eyes, and looked at him, and then she sat up. And then he called the people she had made coats and garments for, and in great joy they had her back alive again. God was willing for her to come back to earth and go on with her beautiful work. He cares for the work of his disciples, even when it is only using thread and needle.”
Judith’s curly head drooped over her hated work; she was so ashamed of behaving “ugly”; she hoped she had not behaved quite as ugly as she felt.
The ball was the required size at last, and she joyfully took it up in the garret to the barrel that was only half filled.
Then, aimlessly, she wandered into the kitchen, and there, odorously, temptingly, under a clean, coarse towel, were the two loaves of warm graham bread; she thought she cared for nothing in the way of bread, cake, or pudding as much as she cared for fresh graham bread and butter.
And Aunt Rody never would put it on the table fresh. For a slice of this she must wait until tomorrow night.
Lifting the coarse towel she peeped, then she touched; another touch brought a crumb, such a delicious crumb; another, and another, and another delicious crumb, and the crust of one end of a loaf was all picked off.
“Oh, deary me!” cried Judith, in dismay.
Then she covered it carefully, standing spellbound.