"I will take care of my own room. Cannot you call me when dinner is ready, in some way?"
"Joe can holler at you. He can go out and holler."
"I'll have my window open, and I shall hear. And some day, Mrs. Purcell,
I will pay you."
"All right," said the woman, whose face was completely cleared up and looked pleasanter than Rotha could ever have believed possible. "Prissy Purcell will get you a good dinner."
So the storm was laid; and Rotha went slowly up stairs, feeling devoutly thankful for that, but very, very sorrowful on her own account. Her, fancy was busy, all the while she was putting her room in order, with the possible future; feeling utterly doubtful of her aunt, in every possible respect, and very sad and depressed in view of her condition and in view of the extreme difficulty of mending it. Then flashed into her mind what she had been saying down stairs; and then, what she had been reading and thinking last night. To do her work, to trust the Lord, and to be content, were the duties that lay nearest to hand.
The duties were far easier to see than to fulfil; however, Rotha took hold of the easiest first, and prayed her way toward the others. She got out her sewing; obviously, Mrs. Busby knew what she was about when she provided those calico dresses. The stuff was strong and troublesome to sew; the needle went through hard. Rotha sewed on it all day; and indeed for many days more. She kept at her work diligently, as I said, praying her way toward perfect trust and quiet content. In her solitude she made her Bible her companion; one may easily have a worse; and setting it open at some word of command or promise, she refreshed herself with a look at it from time to time, and while her needle flew, turned over the words in her mind and wrought them into prayer. And indeed Rotha had loved her Bible before; but after two weeks of this way of life she loved it after a new fashion, such as she had never known. It became sweet inexpressibly, and living; so that she seemed to hear the words spoken to her from heaven. And those days of solitary work grew into some of the loveliest days Rotha had ever seen. She would take her "Treasury," choose some particular thought or promise to start with, and from that go through a series of passages, explaining, elucidating, illustrating, enjoining, conditioning, applying, the original word. The care of her room, and carrying water up and down, gave her some exercise; not enough; but Rotha would not indulge herself with out of door amusement till her mantua making was done.
She hoped for some temporary release from her prison when Sunday came. She was disappointed. May sent another pouring rain, and no going out was to be thought of.
"Where do you go to church? when the sun shines," asked Rotha, as she sat at the breakfast-table and looked at the rain driving past the window. Silence answered her at first.
"Where do you go, Joe?" repeated his wife, with a laugh. "Us is wicked folks, Miss Carpenter. Joe, he don't like to tell on hisself; but 'taint no worse to tell 'u not to tell. So Prissy Purcell thinks."
"Warn't the Sabbath made for rest?" Joe inquired now, with a gleam in his eyes.