"I wish you could take the consolations of religion with
you, Madeline," she continued gravely, as Mrs. Philander was closing the
door.
"Lord, ma! my pocket's full now!" exclaimed Madeline. "Besides, they
might break the eggs!" And the latch fell down with a click.
"I wish Madeline was a believer," Grandma sighed, purposely rattling
about the cover of the stove to wake up Grandpa, who had fallen asleep in
his chair.
Grandpa looked at me, and smiled feebly, then roused himself to meet this
supposed challenge like a man.
"Believer, ma?" said he; "why ain't I a believer? As old Cap'n Gates
said to me on his last voyage"--Grandpa yawned alarmingly (poor old man!
he was but half awake), as this unlucky reminiscence of his sea-faring
life flitted through his brain--"says he, 'I read my almanick and my
Bible, both, Bijonah;' says he, 'I read 'em both, and I believe there's a
great deal o' truth in both on 'em.'"
"Thar, pa!" said Grandma, solemnly, "you'd _better_ go to sleep! you'd
_better_ close your eyes, Bijonah Keeler! What if you should never open
'em again on earthly scenes, and them words on your lips,--and you a
perfessor!"
Grandpa scratched his head in drowsy bewilderment, passed his hand once
or twice over the coarse stubble on his face, and again committed himself
helplessly to the sweet obliviousness of slumber.
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