It was late, but Mrs. Coleman produced the Bible. Zachariah opened it rather mechanically. They were going regularly through it at family worship, and had got into Numbers. The portion for that evening was part of the 26th chapter: “And these are they that were numbered of the Levites after their families: of Gershon, the family of the Gershonites: of Kohath, the family of the Kohathites: of Merari, the family of the Merarites,” &c., &c. Zachariah, having read about a dozen verses, knelt down and prayed; but, alas, even in his prayer he saw Pauline’s red stockings.
The next morning his wife was more pleasant, and even talkative—talkative, that is to say, for her. Something had struck her.
“My dear,” quoth she, as they sat at breakfast, “what a pity it is that the Major is not a converted character!”
Zachariah could not but think so too.
“I have been wondering if we could get him to attend our chapel. Who knows?—some word might go to his heart which might be as the seed sown on good ground.”
“Have you tried to convert him yourself?”
“Oh no, Zachariah! I don’t think that would be quite proper.”
She screwed up her lips a little, and then, looking down at her knees very demurely, smoothed her apron.
“Why not, my dear? Surely it is our duty to testify to the belief that is in us. Poor Christiana, left alone, says, as you will remember, ‘O neighbour, knew you but as much as I do, I doubt not but that you would go with me.’”
“Ah, yes, that was all very well then.” She again smoothed her apron. “Besides, you know,” she added suddenly, “there were no public means of grace in the City of Destruction. Have you said anything to the Major?”