Diana Part 63

"Ain't it pretty? And ain't the suns.h.i.+ne clear gold? And ain't the sky a kind of an elegant canopy? And it's all mine, and all it covers, and he that made it too; and seein' what he makes, puts me in mind of how rich he is and what more he kin do. How's the baby?"

For some little time the baby was talked of, in both present and future relations.

"And you're very happy, Diana?" the old woman asked. "I hain't seen you now for quite a spell--'most all winter."

"I ought to be"--Diana answered, hesitating.

"Some things folks does because they had ought to," remarked the old lady, "but bein' happy ain't one of 'em. The whole world had ought to be happy, if you put it so. The Lord wants 'em to be."

"Not happy"--said Diana hastily.

"Yes. 'Tain't his fault if they ain't."

"How can he want everybody to be happy, when he makes them so unhappy?"

"He?--the Lord? He don't make n.o.body unhappy, child. How did that git in your head?"

"Well, it comes to the same thing, Mother Bartlett. He lets things happen."

"He hain't chained up Satan yet, if that's what you mean. But Satan can't do no harm to the Lord's children. He's tried, often enough, but the Lord won't let him."

"But, Mother Bartlett, that's only a way of talking. I don't know if it is Satan does it, but every sort of terrible thing comes to them. How can you say it's not evil?"

"'Cause the good Lord turns it to blessing, dear. Or if he don't, it's 'cause they won't let him. O' course it is Satan does it--Satan and his ministers. 'Every good gift and every perfect gift cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.' How should he be kind to-day and unkind to-morrow?"

Diana could not trust her voice and was silent. The old woman looked at her, and said in a changed tone presently,

"What's come to you, Diana Masters? You had ought to be the happiest woman there is livin'."

Diana could not answer.

"_Ain't_ you, dear?" Mrs. Bartlett added tenderly.

"I didn't mean to speak of myself," Diana said, making a tremendous effort to bring out her words unconcernedly; "but I get utterly puzzled sometimes, Mother Bartlett, when I see such things happen--such things as do happen, and to good people too."

"You ain't the fust one that's been puzzled that way," returned the old woman. "Job was all out in his reckoning once; and David was as stupid as a beast, he says. But when chillen gets into the dark, they're apt to run agin sun'thin' and hurt theirselves. Stay in the light, dear."

"How can one, always?"

"O, child, jes' believe the Lord's word. That'll keep you near him; and there is no darkness where he is."

"What _is_ his word, that I must believe?--about this, I mean."

"That he loves us, dear; loves us tender and true; like you love your little baby, only a deal more; and truer, and tenderer. For a woman _may_ forget her sucking child, but he never will forget. And all things he will make to 'work together for good to them that love him.'"

Diana shook and trembled with the effort to command herself and not burst into a storm of weeping, which would have betrayed what she did not choose to betray. She sat by the bedpost, clasping it, and with the same clasp as it were holding herself. For a moment _she_ had "forgotten her sucking child,"--the words came home; and it was only by that convulsive hold of herself that she could keep from crying out.

With her face turned away from the sick woman, she waited till the convulsion had pa.s.sed; and then said in measured, deliberate accents,

"It is hard to see how some things can turn out for good--some things I have known."

"Well, you ain't infinite, be you?" said Mrs. Bartlett. "You can't see into the futur'; and what's more, you can't see into the present. You don't know what's goin' on in your own heart--not as _he_ knows it. No more you ain't almighty to change things. If I was you, I would jest trust him that is all-wise, and knows everything, and almighty and kin do what he likes."

"Then why don't he make people good?"

"I said, he kin do what he likes. He don't like to do people's own work for 'em. He _doos_ make 'em good, as soon as they're willin' and ask him. But the man sick with the palsy had to rise and take up his bed and walk; and what's more, he had to believe fust he could do it. I know the Lord gave the power, but the man had his part, you see."

"Mother Bartlett," said Diana, rousing herself, "you must not talk so much."

"Don't do me no harm, Diana."

"But you have talked enough. Now let me give you your broth."

"Then you must talk. I hain't so many opportunities o' social converse that I kin afford to let one of 'em slip. You must talk while I'm eatin'."

But Diana seemed to have nothing to say. She watched the spoonfuls of broth in attentive silence.

"What's new, Diana? there allays is sun'thin'."

"Nothing new. Only"--said Diana, correcting herself, "the Knowltons are coming back to Elmfield. Mrs. Reverdy _is_ come."

"Be the hull o' them comin'?"

"I believe so."

"What for?"

"I don't know. To enjoy the summer, I suppose."

"That's their sort," said the old woman slowly. "Jest to get pleasure.

I used for to see 'em flyin' past here in all the colours o' the rainbow--last time they was in Pleasant Valley."

"But G.o.d made the colours of the rainbow," said Diana.

"So he did," the old lady answered, laughing a little. "So he did; and the colours of the flowers, which is the same colours, to be sure; but what then, Diana?"

"I was thinking, Mother Bartlett--it cannot displease him that we should like them too."

"No, child, it don't; nor it don't displease him to have us wear 'em, nother,--if we could only wear 'em as innercently as the flowers doos.

If you kin, Diana, you may be as scarlet as a tulip or as bright as a marigold, for all I care."

"But people are not any better for putting on dark colours," said Diana.

"They're some modester, though."

"Why?"

"They ain't expectin' that folks'll be lookin' at 'em."