o do the will of God; and he's doin' it. And enjoyment comes
that way, too; ay, ay! 'an hundred-fold now, in this world, and in the
world to come eternal life.' I hain't ever been able to do much, Diana;
but it has been sweet--his service--all along the way; and now I'm
goin' where it'll be nothin' but sweetness for ever."

A little tired, perhaps, with talking, for she had talked with a good
deal of energy, the old lady dozed off into a nap; and Diana sat alone
with the summer stillness, and thought over and over some of the words
that had been said. It was the hush of the summer stillness, and also
the full pulse of the summer life that she felt as she sat there; not
soothing to inaction, but stirring up the loving doing. A warm breath
of vital energy, an odorous witness-bearing of life fruitfulness, a hum
and a murmur of harmonious forces in action, a depth of colour in the
light and in the shadow, which told of the richness and fullness of the
natural world. Nothing idle, nothing unfruitful, nothing out of
harmony, nothing in vain. How about Diana Masters, and her work and her
part in the great plan? Again the gentle summer air which stole in,
laden with such scents and sweets, rich and bountiful out of the
infinite treasury, spoke of love at the heart of creation. But there
were cold winds, too, sometimes; icy storms; desolations of tempests;
they had been here not long ago. True, but yet it was not those, but
_this_ which carried on the life of the world; this was the "Yes," and
those others the "No," of creation; and an affirmative is stronger than
a negative any day, by universal acknowledgment. Moreover, that "No"
was in order to this "Yes;" gave way before it, yielded to it; and life
reigned in spite of death. Vaguely Diana's mind felt and carried on the
analogy, and the reasoning from analogy, and drew a chill, far-off hope
from it. For it was the time of storm and desolation with her now, and
the summer sun had not come yet. She sat musing while the old lady
slumbered.

"Hullo, Diany! here you be!" exclaimed the voice of Joe Bartlett,
suddenly breaking in. "Here's your good man outside, waitin' for you, I
guess; his horse is a leetle skittish. What ails your mother?"

"My mother?"

"Yes. Josh says--you see, I've bin down to mill to git some rye ground,
and he was there; and what's more, he had the start of me, and I had to
wait for him, or I wouldn't ha' stood there chatterin' while the sun
was shinin' l