e side. And Mr.
Burch talked beautifully about the Syrian heathen, and the singing went
real well, and there looked to be about forty cents in the basket that
was passed on our side. And that wouldn't save even a heathen baby,
would it? Then Mr. Burch said, if any sister would offer entertainment,
they would pass the night, and have a parlor meeting in Riverboro
to-morrow, with Mrs. Burch in Syrian costume, and lovely foreign things
to show. Then he waited and waited, and nobody said a word. I was so
mortified I didn't know what to do. And then he repeated what he said,
an explained why he wanted to stay, and you could see he thought it was
his duty. Just then Mrs. Robinson whispered to me and said the
missionaries always used to go to the brick house when grandfather was
alive, and that he never would let them sleep anywhere else. I didn't
know you had stopped having them because no traveling ministers have
been here, except just for a Sunday morning, since I came to Riverboro.
So I thought I ought to invite them, as you weren't there to do it for
yourself, and you told me to represent the family."
"What did you do--go up and introduce yourself as folks was goin' out?"
"No; I stood right up in meeting. I had to, for Mr. Burch's feelings
were getting hurt at nobody's speaking. So I said, 'My aunts, Miss
Miranda and Miss Jane Sawyer would be happy to have you visit at the
brick house, just as the missionaries always did when their father was
alive, and they sent their respects by me.' Then I sat down; and Mr.
Burch prayed for grandfather, and called him a man of God, and thanked
our Heavenly Father that his spirit was still alive in his descendants
(that was you), and that the good old house where so many of the
brethren had been cheered and helped, and from which so many had gone
out strengthened for the fight, was still hospitably open for the
stranger and wayfarer."
Sometimes, when the heavenly bodies are in just the right conjunction,
nature seems to be the most perfect art. The word or the deed coming
straight from the heart, without any thought of effect, seems inspired.
A certain gateway in Miranda Sawyer's soul had been closed for years;
not all at once had it been done, but gradually, and without her full
knowledge. If Rebecca had plotted for days, and with the utmost
cunning, she could not have effected an entrance into that forbidden
country, and now, unknown to both of them, the gate swung on its stiff
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