had not much choice; and something had given me a confidence in Maria's practical wisdom, which early as it had been formed, nothing ever happened to shake. So, after considering the fire and the matter a moment, I brought forth my doubt.
"Maria," said I, "what is the best way—I mean, how can one let one's light shine?"
"What Miss Daisy talkin' about?"
"I mean—you know what the Bible says—'Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven.'"
"For sure, I knows dat. Ain't much shining in dese yere parts. De people is dark, Miss Daisy; dey don' know. 'Spect dey would try to shine, some on 'em, ef dey knowed. Feel sure dey would."
"But that is what I wanted to ask about, Maria. How ought one to let one's light shine?"
I remember now the kind of surveying look the woman gave me. I do not know what she was thinking of; but she looked at me, up and down, for a moment, with a wonderfully tender, soft expression. Then turned away.
"How let um light shine?" she repeated. "De bestest way, Miss Daisy, is fur to make him burn good."
I saw it all immediately; my question never puzzled me again. Take care that the lamp is trimmed; take care that it is full of oil; see that the flame mounts clear and steady towards heaven; and the Lord will set it where its light will fall on what pleases Him, and where it will reach, mayhap, to what you never dream of.