ain't we all jest like wheat waiting for the sickle, or like corn
waiting till the time comes to be plucked by the Death Angel? I
suppose my heavenly Father reveals more to me than He does to
others, 'cause He, in His wisdom, has taken so much from me. He
has left me here a poor old woman, deaf, blind, and lame. I can't
see the faces of my friends through these poor sightless eyes, nor
the beauties of the fields and sky, nor the blossoms and fruit of
the trees, nor the flowers in the garden; neither can I hear the
sweet music of the birds, nor even the prattle of the dear little
children who come and kiss me, and let me play with their curls,
save through this horn. He only knows"--and Aunt Debie looked up
as she spoke--"how I long sometimes to see them. But, Father, Thou
knowest what is best: 'Though Thou slayest me, yet will I trust in
Thee.'"

This conversation occurred in Mrs. Gurney's parlor; for both Mr.
and Mrs. Gurney were originally Quakers, but, settling in Bayton
in their early married life, they joined another body, though they
ever retained a profound respect for the Church of their
childhood. In fact a great many of their relatives, and a very
large circle of friends in the surrounding country, belonged to
that body; and, as they are a people who are especially noted for
their social qualities and for their warm attachment to kinsfolk
and friends, the Gurneys very frequently received visits from
them.

The conversation, part of which I have given to my readers, took
place upon one of these visits. One of the parties present on this
occasion deserves more than a passing notice, as she was an
uncommon character.