Sophie had deserted the reading and the window to do something that she imagined would please Aaron when he came home. It was nearly evening. The sun was gone. I resumed my seat and work.
"You look gloomy, Anna,—what is it?" asked Aaron's evergreen voice, as Aaron's self came into the room, somewhat the worse for mud and mountain wear. "Was last night's watching too much for you?"
"Oh, no; I'm going again to-night."
"Going where?" Sophie was the questioner.
"To stay with Miss Axtell."
"I wouldn't, Anna; one night has made you pale," she said.
"You're a frightened little thing," I said. "You've Aaron's headachy eyes of yesterday."
"Have you promised to go?" Aaron asked.
"I have. Mr. Axtell is to send for me in time."
No more was said on the subject. Aaron had learned many things in his visit to the people's homes. I fancy that he gathered much material for Sunday-sermons that afternoon. I could not help wishing that he knew all of last night's teaching to me. An idle wish; how could he? What is knowledge to one is but dry dust to another soul. The soils of the human heart are as various as those of our planet, and therein as many and as strange plants are grown. Why had I always thought mine to be adapted to the aloe?