indulge.

What has happened to Dwight? Something that is not easily settled;
for as the chickens sputter in the oven below, and the water boils
off the potatoes, and the pudding is manufactured, and the cloud
deepens and glooms, he does not recover his free-and-easy air and
manner. He ceases his walk after a little, from sheer weariness, but
he thrusts out his arm and seizes a chair with the air of one who has
not time to be leisurely, and flings himself into it, and clasps his
arms on the table, and bends his head on his hands and thinks on.

The holy hours of the Sabbath afternoon waned. Mr. Brower exhausted
the stock column, read the record of deaths by way of doing a little
religious reading, tried a line or two of a religious poem and found
it too much for him, then rolled up a shawl for a sofa-pillow, put
the paper over his head to shield him from the October flies, and
went to sleep. Jennie went in and out setting the table, went to the
cellar for bread and cake and cream, went to the closet up-stairs for
a glass of jelly, went the entire round of weary steps necessary to
the getting ready the Sunday feast, all the time with the flush on
her cheek and the fire in her eye that told of a turbulent, eager,
disappointed heart, and not once during the time did she think of the
solemn words of prayer or hymn or sermon, or even _benediction_, of
the morning. She had gotten her text in the church aisle. It was,
"Wherewithal shall I be clothed, in order to sit down at the
marriage-supper of Mrs. Jamison's son and daughter?" And vigorously
was it tormenting her. What an infinitely compassionate God is ours
who made it impossible for Dr. Selmser, as he sat alone in his study
that afternoon, to know what was transpiring in the hearts and homes
of some of his people!