‘I have always had a trembling hope for poor James,’ said Mrs. Scudder,—‘not on account of any of his good deeds or amiable traits, because election is without foresight of any good works,—but I felt he was a child of the covenant, at least by the father’s side, and I hope the Lord has heard his prayer. These are dark providences; the world is full of them; and all we can do is to have faith that the Lord will bring infinite good out of finite evil, and make everything better than if the evil had not happened. That’s what our good Doctor is always repeating; and we must try to rejoice, in view of the happiness of the universe, without considering whether we or our friends are to be included in it or not.’
‘Well, dear me!’ said Miss Prissy, ‘I hope, if that is necessary, it will please the Lord to give it to me; for I don’t seem to find any power in me to get up to it. But all’s for the best, at any rate,—and that’s a comfort.’
Just at this moment Mary’s clear voice at the door announced that tea was on the table.
‘Coming, this very minute,’ said Miss Prissy, bustling up and pulling off her spectacles. Then, running across the room, she shut the door mysteriously, and turned to Mrs. Scudder with the air of an impending secret. Miss Prissy was subject to sudden impulses of confidence, in which she was so very cautious that not the thickest oak-plank door seemed secure enough, and her voice dropped to its lowest key. The most important and critical words were entirely omitted, or supplied by a knowing wink and a slight stamp of the foot.
In this mood she now approached Mrs. Scudder, and, holding up her hand on the door side, to prevent consequences, if, after all, she should be betrayed into a loud word, she said, ‘I thought I’d just say, Miss Scudder, that, in case Mary should —— the Doctor,—in case, you know, there should be a —— in the house, you _must_ just contrive it so as to give me a month’s notice, so that I could give you a whole fortnight to fix her up as such a good man’s —— ought to be. Now I know how spiritually-minded our blessed Doctor is; but, bless you, Ma’am, he’s got eyes. I tell you, Miss Scudder, these men, the best of ’em, _feel_ what’s what, though they don’t _know_ much. I saw the Doctor look at Mary that night I dressed her for the wedding-party. I tell you he’d like to have his wife look pretty well, and he’ll get up some blessed text or other about it, just as he did that night about being brought unto the king in raiment of needle-work. That is an encouraging thought to us sewing-women.