"But my dear boy," Mrs. Bartholomew went on, "you said Monday night that you were as much of a Jew as ever."
"The poor fellow was afraid of falling between two stools," said Judy; "so he clutched at 'em both, without thinking."
"And you are very young; and you do not know what your opinions may be in a few years more. And in the mean while, I am very unwilling that you should offend your uncles. They would never get over it."
"I guess they wouldn't," said Judy. "What a time David will have with 'em!"
"Don't you see, my dear," pursued Mrs. Bartholomew, "it is unnecessary, and may be premature, and so unwise?"
"Mother," said David, evidently struggling with his feelings, "Messiah has said that he will not own those who do not own him."
"You'll get nothing out of him, mamma," said Judy. "He is one of Matilda's crazy kind. He is going to get rid of his money as fast as he can; and then he will turn chaplain of some jail, I should think; or else he will get a place as a Methodist parson and go poking into all the poor places of the earth; and then we shall see his name up in bills—'Preaching at the cross corners to-night—Rev. David Bartholomew will speak to the people from a candle box.'"
David changed colour once or twice, but he said nothing.
"Matilda Laval," said Judy sharply, "eat your breakfast! He won't want you to help him preach."
Matilda wondered privately that the elders were so patient of Judy's tongue and so very silent themselves. They seemed to have thoughts not ready for utterance. At any rate the breakfast party broke up with Judy having the last word, and scattered their several ways; and Matilda heard no more on David's subject for some time. How the Saturday's work issued she did not know; nothing was said about it in her hearing; and David looked as happy and as calm as he had done before Saturday. She watched him, and she was sure of that.