"I have been puzzled," I said, "about giving—how much one ought to give, and how much one ought to spend—I mean for oneself."
"Well," said Miss Cardigan brightly, "we have fixed that. The poor woman gave all her living."
"But one must spend some money for oneself," I said. "One must have bonnets and cloaks and dresses."
"And houses, and books, and pictures," said Miss Cardigan, looking around her. "My lamb, let us go to the Bible again. That says, 'whether ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.' So I suppose we must buy cloaks and bonnets on the same principle."
I turned this over in my mind. Had I done this, when I was choosing my chinchilla cap and grey cloak? A little ray of
infinite brightness began to steal in upon their quiet colours and despised forms.
"If the rich are to give their all, as well as the poor, it doesn't say—mind you—that they are to give it all to the hungry, or all to the destitute; but only, they are to give it all to Christ. Then, He will tell them what to do with it; do ye understand, my dear?"
Miss Cardigan's eye was watching me, not more kindly than keen. A wise and clear grey eye it was.
"But isn't it difficult to know sometimes what to do?" I said. "I have been so puzzled to know about dresses. Mamma is away, and I had to decide."
"It's no very difficult," said Miss Cardigan,—"if once ye set your face in the right airth—as we speak. My dear, there's a great many sorts of dresses and bonnets and things; and I'd always buy just that bonnet and that gown, in which I thought I could do most work for my Master; and that wouldn't be the same sort of bonnet for you and for me," she said with a merry smile. "Now ye'll have another cup of tea, and ye'll tell me if my tea's good."