“Why, Katherine dear, thee must have been very spry to get home before us. I was pleased to see thy interest in the meeting to-day.”
The good woman kissed me and thanked me for the little aid I was able to give in unpinning her great shawl.
Directly afterward, sweet Jane Spencer came tripping up the stairs. She was frequently spoken of as exhibiting “overmuch ardor” in all her good works, but we children loved the enthusiastic little woman.
“O Katherine, I am glad to make use of thy quick fingers. My cap strings are sadly awry. I have been most uncomfortable in them all through meeting. Our breakfast was a trifle late this morning, and we had far to drive.”
One and another arrived, each with a thought of me. “How thee grows, child,” or “Thy mother is blessed in her little helpers.”
The room was well-nigh full, when someone asked the question that had been trembling on my lips.
“Where is Sarah Sidney?”
No one directly replied, but after a moment’s reflection nearly all had a suggestion or a little interest in her to express.
“Methought her face bore traces of anxiety this morning. I trust she has met with no further financial disaster. Thee knows, Rhoda, she is benevolent to a surprising degree in one whose purse is not lengthy, and it is therefore a serious matter to be forced to curtail in her giving.”
“Sarah is too true a follower of the Great Teacher to be long afflicted by the things of this world,” replied an aged friend.