"Well, you ain't infinite, be you?" said Mrs. Bartlett. "You can't see into the futur'; and what's more, you can't see into the present. You don't know what's goin' on in your own heart--not as _he_ knows it. No more you ain't almighty to change things. If I was you, I would jest trust him that is all-wise, and knows everything, and almighty and kin do what he likes." "Then why don't he make people good?" "I said, he kin do what he likes. He don't like to do people's own work for 'em. He _doos_ make 'em good, as soon as they're willin' and ask him. But the man sick with the palsy had to rise and take up his bed and walk; and what's more, he had to believe fust he could do it. I know the Lord gave the power, but the man had his part, you see." "Mother Bartlett," said Diana, rousing herself, "you must not talk so much." "Don't do me no harm, Diana." "But you have talked enough. Now let me give you your broth." "Then you must talk. I hain't so many opportunities o' social converse that I kin afford to let one of 'em slip. You must talk while I'm eatin'." But Diana seemed to have nothing to say. She watched the spoonfuls of broth in attentive silence. "What's new, Diana? there allays is sun'thin'." "Nothing new. Only"--said Diana, correcting herself, "the Knowltons are coming back to Elmfield. Mrs. Reverdy _is_ come." "Be the hull o' them comin'?" "I believe so." "What for?" "I don't know. To enjoy the summer, I suppose." "That's their sort," said the old woman slowly. "Jest to get pleasure. I used for to see 'em flyin' past here in all the colours o' the rainbow--last time they was in Pleasant Valley." "But God made the colours of the rainbow," said Diana. "So he did," the old lady answered, laughing a little. "So he did; and the colours of the flowers, which is the same colours, to be sure; but what then, Diana?" "I was thinking, Mother Bartlett--it cannot displease him that we should like them too." "No, child, it don't; nor it don't displease him to have us wear 'em, nother,--if we could only wear 'em as innercently as the flowers doos. If you kin, Diana, you may be as scarlet as a tulip or as bright as a marigold, for all I care." "But people are not any better for putting on dark colours," said Diana. "They're some modester, though." "Why?" "They ain't expectin' that folks'll be lookin' at 'em." "Mr. Masters likes me to wear bright dresses." "Then do it, child. It's considerable of a pleasure to have his eyes pleased. Do you know what a husband you've got, Diana?" "Yes." "He's 'most like one o' them flowers himself. He's so full o' the sweetness the Lord has put into him, and he's jest as unconscious that he's spreadin' it wherever he goes." Diana was silent. She would have liked again to burst into tears; she controlled herself as before. "That ain't the way with those Knowlton girls; nor it ain't the way they wear their fine colours, neither. Can't you get a little sense into their heads, Diana?"