The Way to Peace | Page 8

prosaic life. No; definite opposition to the visit must
not be thought of--but he must try and persuade her not to go. How?
What plea could he offer? His own loneliness without her he could not
bring himself to speak of; he shrank from taking what seemed to him
an advantage. He might urge that she would find it cold and
uncomfortable in those old frame houses high up on the hills; or that it
would be bad for her health to take the rather wearing journey at this
time of year. But he knew too well how little effect any such prudent
counsels would have. The very fact that her interest had lasted for more
than three months showed that it had really struck roots into her mind,
and mere prudence would not avail much. Still, he would urge
prudence; then, if she was determined, she must go. "She'll get sick of
it in a fortnight," he said; but for the present he must let her have her
head, even if she was making a mistake. She had a right to have her
head, he reminded himself--"but I must tell those people to keep her
warm, she takes cold so easily."
He got up and looked out of the window; below, in the race, there was a
jam of logs, and the air was keen with the pungent smell of sawdust
and new boards. The whir and thud of the machinery down-stairs sent a
faint quiver through the planks under his feet. "The mill will net a good
profit this year," he said to himself, absently. "'Thalia can have pretty
nearly anything she wants." And even as he said it he had a sudden,
vague misgiving: if she didn't have everything she wanted, perhaps she
would be happier? But the idea was too new and too subtle to follow up,
so the result of that troubled hour in the mill-chamber was only that he
made no very resolute objection to Athalia's acceptance of Eldress

Hannah's permission to come. It had been given grudgingly enough.
The family were gathered in the sitting-room; they had had their
supper-- the eight elderly women and the three elderly men, all that
were left of the community. The room had the austere and shining
cleanness which Athalia had called a perfume, but it was full of homely
comfort. A blue-and-white rag carpet in the centre left a border of bare
floor, painted pumpkin-yellow; there was a glittering airtight stove with
isinglass windows that shone like square, red eyes; a gay patchwork
cushion in the seat of a rocking-chair was given up to the black cat,
whose sleek fur glistened in the lamplight. Three of the sisters knitted
silently; two others rocked back and forth, their tired, idle hands in their
laps, their eyes closed; the other three yawned, and spoke occasionally
between themselves of their various tasks. Brother Nathan read his
weekly FARMER; Brother William turned over the leaves of a
hymn-book and appeared to count them with noiseless, moving lips;
Brother George cut pictures out of the back of a magazine, yawning
sometimes, and looking often at his watch. Into this quietness Eldress
Hannah's still voice came:
"I have heard from Lydia again." There was a faint stir, but no one
spoke. "The Lord is dealing with her," Eldress Hannah said; "she is in
great misery."
Brother George nodded. "That is good; He works in a mysterious way--
she's real miserable, is she? Well, well; that's good. The mercies of the
Lord are everlasting," he ended, in a satisfied voice, and began to read
again.
"Amen!--amen!" said Brother William, vaguely.
"Poor Lydy!" Brother Nathan murmured.
"And I had another letter," the Eldress proceeded, "from that young
woman who came here in August--Athalia Hall; do you
remember?--she asked two questions to the minute! She wants to visit
us."
Brother Nathan looked at her over his spectacles, and one of the sisters
opened her eyes.
"I don't see why she should," Eldress Hannah added.
Two of the old brothers nodded agreement.
"The curiosity of the world's people does not help their souls," said one
of the knitters.

"She thinks we walk in the Way to Peace," said the Eldress.
"Yee; we do," said Brother George.
"Shall I tell her 'nay'?" the Eldress questioned, calmly.
"Yee," said Brother George; and the dozing sisters murmured "Yee."
"Wait," said Brother Nathan; "her husband--HE has something to him.
Let her come."
"But if she visited us, how would that affect him?" Eldress Hannah
asked, surprised into faint animation.
"If she was moved to stay it would affect him," Brother Nathan said,
dryly; "he would come, too, and there are very few of us left, Eldress.
He would be a great gain."
There was a long silence. Brother William's gray head sagged