"I seem to, anyhow. It's queer if I
don't."

"But you can't make anything of all those horses?"

"Why, it's just what you've been readin' about all the afternoon."

"In the newspaper!" cried Diana.

"It's many a year that I've been lookin' at it," said the old lady;
"ever sen I heard it all explained by a good minister. I've been
lookin' at it ever sen." She spoke dreamily.

"It's all words and words to me," said Diana.

"There's a blessin' belongs to studyin' them words, though. Those
horses are the works and judgments of the Lord that are goin' on in all
the earth, to prepare the way of his comin'."

"Whose coming?"

"The Lord's comin'," said the old lady solemnly. "The white horse,
that's victory; that's goin' on conquering and to conquer; that's the
truth and power of the Lord bringin' his kingdom. The red horse, that's
war; ah, how that red horse has tramped round the world! he's left the
marks of his hoofs on our own ground not long sen; and now you've been
readin' to me about his goin's on elsewhere. The black horse, that's
famine; and not downright starvation, the minister said, but just want;
grindin' and pressin' people down. Ain't there enough o' that in the
world? not just so bad in Pleasant Valley, but all over. And the pale
horse--what is it the book calls him?--that's death; and he comes to
Pleasant Valley as he comes everywhere. They've been goin', those four,
ever sen the world was a world o' fallen men."

"But what do they do to prepare the way for the Lord's coming?" said
Diana.

"What do I know? _That_'ll be known when the book shall come to be
read, I s'pose. I'm waitin'. I'll know by and by"--

"Only I can seem to see so much as this," the old lady went on after a
pause. "The Lord won't have folk to settle down accordin' to their will
into a contented forgetfulness o' him; so he won't let there be peace
till the King o' Peace comes. O, I'd be glad if he'd come!"

"But that will be the end of the world," said Diana.

"Well," said Mrs. Bartlett, "it might be the end of the world for all I
care; if it would bring Him. What do I live for?"

"You know I don't understand you, Mother Bartlett," said Diana gently.

"Well, what do you live for, child?"

"I don't know," said Diana slowly. "Nothing. I help mother make butter
and cheese; and I make my clothes, and do the housework. And next year
it'll be the same thing; and the next year after that. It don't amount
to anything."

"And do