Margaret was not like my old June. She was a
clear mulatto, with a fresh colour and rather a handsome face;
and her eyes, unlike June's little anxious, restless, almond
shaped eyes, were liquid and full. She went on care- fully
with the toilet duties which busied her; and I was puzzled.
"Did you never hear of Jesus?" I said presently. "Don't you
know that He loves poor people?"
"Reckon He loves rich people de best, Miss Daisy," the girl
said, in a dry tone.
I faced about to deny this, and to explain how the Lord had a
special love and care for the poor. I saw that my hearer did
not believe me. "She had heerd so," she said.
The dressing-bell sounded long and loud, and I was obliged to
let Margaret go on with my dressing; but in the midst of my
puzzled state of mind, I felt childishly sure of the power of
that truth, of the Lord's love, to break down any hardness and
overcome any coldness. Yet, "how shall they hear without a
preacher?" and I had so little chance to speak.
"Then, Margaret," said I at last, "is there no place where you
can go to hear about the things in the Bible?"
"No, missis; I never goes.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71