I had a mental picture of the 'Holy Heavenly Dove,'
with its wings of silvery grey, hovering over my dear old ladies;
and I doubt not my vision was a true one.
Once as I watched Benjamin, the old gardener--a most 'stiff-backed
Friend' despite his stoop and his seventy years--putting scarlet
geraniums and yellow fever-few in the centre bed, I asked, awe-
struck, whether such glowing colours were approved; and Rebecca
smiled and said--"Child, dost thee not think the Lord may have His
glories?" and I looked from the living robe of scarlet and gold to
the dove-coloured gown, and said: "Would it be pride in thee to
wear His glories?" and Mary answered for her--"The change is not
yet; better beseems us the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.
The 'change from glory to glory' has come to them both long since,
but it seems to me as if their robes must still be Quaker-grey.
Upstairs was the invalid daughter and niece. For years she had
been compelled to lie on her face; and in that position she had
done wonderful drawings of the High Priest, the Ark of the
Covenant, and other Levitical figures. She had a cageful of tame
canary-birds which answered to their names and fed from her plate
at meal-times. Of these I remember only Roger, a gorgeous fellow
with a beautiful voice and strong will of his own, who would
occasionally defy his mistress from the secure fastness of a high
picture-frame, but always surrendered at last, and came to listen
to his lecture with drooping wings.
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