"I am not glad the man is sick. I am just glad to have something happen.
Things never do happen here."
"I am afraid your mother will hardly feel as much pleased as you do. Is the man very ill, Eunice?"
"I think so. He is too ill to tell how he feels."
"He may be on your hands then for a day or two."
"He may for more than that."
"How can you manage?" said Mr. Carpenter, looking anxiously at the sweet face which already bore such lines of care, and was so work-worn.
"I don't know. I shall find out," Mrs. Carpenter answered as she was dishing the dinner. "The Lord seems to have given me this to do; and he knows. I guess, what he gives me to do, I can do."
"I don't see how you can say that, mother," Rotha put in here.
"What?"
"This man was taken sick on the road, and happened to come in here. How can you say, the Lord gave him to you to take care of?"