"
"Mrs. Buzzell, Mrs. Buzzell!" interrupted the minister's wife, with a smile
that took the sting from her speech. "It will be like punishing little Abner
Miller; if we think those thoughts on Christmas Eve, we shall surely be
haunted afterward."
"And anyway," interjected Maria Sharp, who always saved the situation, "you
just wait and see if the Methodists don't say they'd rather have no carpet at
all than have one that don't go all over the floor. I know 'em!" and she put
on her hood and blanket-shawl as she gave one last fond look at the
improvements.
"I'm going home to get my supper, and come back afterward to lay the carpet in
my pew; my beans and brown bread will be just right by now, and perhaps it
will rest me a little; besides, I must feed 'Zekiel."
As Nancy Wentworth spoke, she sat in a corner of her own modest rear seat,
looking a little pale and tired. Her waving dark hair had loosened and fallen
over her cheeks, and her eyes gleamed from under it wistfully. Nowadays
Nancy's eyes never had the sparkle of gazing into the future, but always the
liquid softness that comes from looking backward.
"The church will be real cold by then, Nancy," objected Mrs.
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