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."

"Mr. Masters likes me to wear bright dresses."

"Then do it, child. It's considerable of a pleasure to have his eyes
pleased. Do you know what a husband you've got, Diana?"

"Yes."

"He's 'most like one o' them flowers himself. He's so full o' the
sweetness the Lord has put into him, and he's jest as unconscious that
he's spreadin' it wherever he goes."

Diana was silent. She would have liked again to burst into tears; she
controlled herself as before.

"That ain't the way with those Knowlton girls; nor it ain't the way
they wear their fine colours, neither. Can't you get a little sense
into their heads, Diana?"

"I? They think nothing of me, Mother Bartlett."

"Maybe not, two years ago, but they will now. You're the minister's
wife, Diana. They allays sot a great deal by him."

Diana was chewing the cud of this, when Mrs. Bartlett asked again,

"Who's sick in the place?"

"Quite a number. There's Mrs. Wilson at the tavern; she's sinking at
last; my husband sees her every day. Then old Josh Lightfoot--he's down
with I don't know what; very sick. Mrs. Saddler has a child that has
been hurt; he was pitched off a load of hay and fell upon a fork; his
mother is distracted about him, and it is all Mr. Masters can do to
quiet her. And Lizzie Satterthwaite is going slowly, you know, in
consumption, and _she_ expects to see him every day. And that isn't
all; for over in the village of Bromble there is sickness--I suppose
there always is in that miserable place."

"And the minister goes there too, I'll be bound?"

"O yes. He goes everywhere, if people want him. It takes twenty miles
of riding a day, he told me, just to visit all these people that he
must see."

"Ay, ay," said the old woman contentedly; "enjoyment ain't the end of
life, but t