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In that blessed book I read these words this mornin', 'love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you and parsecute you. Sir, when I read these words, I felt them slidin' into my heart, and I couldn't help repeatin' them to myself, ever since and, even when Father M'Cabe was playin' his whip about my ears, I was as hard at work prayin' for his sowl."
But then they won't let me be silly in peace and quietness, but will force me to be as wise as they are; now that's not British liberty, I say. I'm forced to be wise according to their notions, else they parsecute me, and sarve me out." What could her father be doing upstairs? Tramping and banging about. Why did he not come down? Or why did not Job go? The supper would be spoilt.
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