"I ca'n' jestly tell y' what it was, Doctor," the old woman answered, as
if bewildered and trying to clear up her recollections; "but it was
somethin' fearful, with a great noise 'n' a great cryin' o' people,--like
the Las' Day, Doctor! The Lord have mercy on my poor chil', 'n' take
care of her, if anything happens! But I's feared she'll never live to
see the Las' Day, 'f 't don' come pooty quick."
Poor Sophy, only the third generation from cannibalism, was, not
unnaturally, somewhat confused in her theological notions. Some of the
Second-Advent preachers had been about, and circulated their predictions
among the kitchen--population of Rockland. This was the way in which it
happened that she mingled her fears in such a strange manner with their
doctrines.
The Doctor answered solemnly, that of the day and hour we knew not, but
it became us to be always ready.--"Is there anything going on in the
household different from common?"
Old Sophy's wrinkled face looked as full of life and intelligence, when
she turned it full upon the Doctor, as if she had slipped off her
infirmities and years like an outer garment.
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