“Ah, Hannah dear,” answered the first speaker, “thee has never had the bread and butter trouble, and therefore thee can hardly compass its misery.”
I think we all felt the force of this argument, for Hannah was richly dowered. Presently Jane Spencer sighed:
“I cannot help wishing that Uncle Joseph would recognize that the hand of the Lord is pointing him to Sarah Sidney.”
“If such be the will of our Heavenly Father, I doubt not it will be revealed in due time,” and Hannah spoke with great deliberation.
“That is quite true, and undoubtedly it is only those among us who are a trifle worldly minded, that show a disposition to hasten these things.” Jane Spencer was always very meek under reproof, and I felt glad that others sustained her desire that Uncle Joseph should be a little less deliberate in his action.
“I can hardly think that he realizes Sarah’s worth,” said a late comer.
“On the contrary,” it was Rhoda Longstreet’s voice, “I am sometimes inclined to believe that his doubt rests upon his own merit. If he were one of the world’s people I should say he was bashful. As it is, I shall call him slow in perceiving his adaptation to any peculiar calling.”
“Thee may be right,” responded Jane Spencer, and I was struck with the note of merrymaking that accompanied her words. “If so, I can only wish that somebody would give him a hint, for I really believe that Sarah has perceived their true relationship, and that her spirit is troubled with doubt since no sign is given unto her.”
“Ah,” interrupted Hannah, “shall we never learn that God does not wish us to call upon him for signs?”
Now it had chanced, although none of those present were at that time conscious of it, that Sarah Sidney had given up her seat in a friend’s carriage to a person who was suffering from a weak limb, and had walked briskly along the frozen road toward our house.