"Then why do they not come as usual, Maria? there were only a
few last night."
"Dere was so few, it was lonesome," said Maria.
"Then what is the reason?"
"Dere is more reasons for t'ings, den Maria can make out," —
she said thoughtfully. "Mebbe it's to make 'em love de
priv'lege mo'."
"But what keeps them away, Maria? what hinders?"
"Chile, de Lord hab His angels, and de devil he hab his
ministers; and dey takes all sorts o' shapes, de angels and de
ministers too. I reckon dere's some work o'dat sort goin'on."
Maria spoke in a sort of sententious wisdom which did not
satisfy me at all. I thought there was something behind.
"Who is doing the work, Maria?" I asked, after a minute.
"Miss Daisy," she said, "dere aint no happenin' at all widout
de Lord lets it happen. Dere is much contrairy in dis world, —
fact, dere is! — but I 'spect de Lord make it all up to us
by'm by."
And she turned her face full upon me with a smile of so much
quiet resting in that truth, that for just a moment it
silenced me.
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