"I might as well be a thorough reprobate then," I thought, "like Sal
Thompson, who seems remarkably happy, as to try to behave as well as
Pardon Hitch, who is a model in Barmouth."
When we went to church the next morning, I saw him in one of the back
pews, leaning against the rail, as if he had no strength. His face was
full of anguish. He sat there motionless all day. He was prayed for,
but did not seem to hear the prayers. At night his wife led him home.
By the end of the third day, he interrupted an exhorting brother by
rising, and uttering an inarticulate cry. We all looked. The tears
were streaming down his pale face, which was lighted up by a smile
of joy. He seemed like a man escaped from some great danger, torn,
bruised, breathless, but alive. The minister left the pulpit to shake
hands with him; the brethren crowded round to congratulate him, and
the meeting broke up at once.
Neither grand'ther nor Aunt Mercy had spoken to me concerning
my interest in Religion; but on that very evening Mr. Boold, the
minister, came in to tea and asked me, while he was taking off his
overcoat, if I knew that Christ had died for me? I answered that I was
not sure of it.
"Do you read your Bible, child?"
"Every day."
"And what does it teach you?"
"I do not know."
"Miss Mercy, I will thank you for another cup. 'Now is the day, and
now is the hour; come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, I
will give you rest.'"
"But I do not want rest; I have no burden," I said.
"Cassandra," thundered grand'ther, "have you no respect for God nor
man?"
"Have you read," went on the minister, "the memoir of Nathan
Dickerman? A mere child, he realized his burden of sin in time, and
died sanctified."
I thought it best to say no more. Aunt Mercy looked disturbed, and
left the table as soon as she could with decency.
"Cassandra," she said, when we were alone, "what will become of you?"
"What will, indeed? You have always said that I was possessed. Why did
you not explain this fact to Mr. Boold?"
She kissed me,--her usual treatment when she was perplexed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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