In prayer-meeting he was
a great hand at "improving" an occasion of bereavement; but here again
his will to speak impressively suddenly failed him. His words were:
"Lord, there were two women grinding at a mill; the one was taken, and
t'other left. She that you took, you've a-carr'd beyond our prayers;
but O, be gentle, be gentle, to her that's left!"
He arose, and looked shyly, almost shamefacedly, at Naomi. She had not
turned. But her head was bowed; and, drawing near, he saw that the
scalding tears were falling fast into the wash-tub. She had not wept
when her husband was lost, nor since.
"Go away!" she commanded, before he could speak, turning her shoulders
resolutely towards him.
He took up his hat, and went out softly, closing the door softly
behind him.
His eye, which was growing quick to read Naomi's face, saw at once,
as he entered the room a week later, that she deprecated even the
slightest reference to her weakness. It also told him--he had not
guessed it before--that her emotional breakdown had probably more to
do with physical exhaustion than with any eloquence of his.
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