CHAPTER XXIII

CHIEFLY CONCERNING A LETTER


"Sunday," said Mrs. Trapes sententiously, "Sunday is a holy day t' some
folks an' a holiday for other folks, but t' folks like me an' Hermy it
sure ain't no day of rest an' gladness--like the hymn book says."

"Isn't it?" said Ravenslee, pushing away his coffee cup and glancing
toward the loud-ticking clock upon the sideboard.

"It sure ain't!" nodded Mrs. Trapes, quick to note the look. "Hermy an'
me ain't much given to Sunday observance, Mr. Geoffrey. Y' see, there's
always meals t' be cooked an' washin' up t' be done, an' clo'es t' be
mended p'raps. I've darned many a 'eartfelt prayer into a wore-out pair
o' stockin's before now an' offered up many a petition t' the Throne o'
grace with my scrubbin' brush sloshin' over the floor. Anyway, Hermy 'n'
me ain't never had much time for church-goin' or prayer meetin's or
mindin' our souls in our best frocks an' bonnets--no, sir! We jest have
t' get on with our work--sewin' an' cookin' an' washin'--mindin' the
welfare of other folks' bodies. So while them as has time an'
inclination sing their praises t' the Lord on their knees, Hermy an' me
take out our praises in work, an' have t' leave our souls t' God
an'--oh, well, I guess he'll take care of 'em all right--don't y'
think?"

"I certainly do!" nodded Ravenslee.