"I should say that a Christian who was always doing that," she replied, gravely, "was in pressing need of just the trial God sent when He shut him up to such a life of hourly temptation.We only know ourselves and what we really are, when the force of circumstances bring us out.""It is very mortifying and painful to find how weak one is.""That is true.But our mortifications are some of God's best physicians, and do much toward healing our pride and self-conceit.""Do you really think, then, that God deliberately appoints to some of His children a lot where their worst passions are excited, with a desire to bring good out of this seeming evil? Why I have always supposed the best thing that could happen to me, instance, would be to have a home exactly to my mind; a home where all were forbearing, loving and good-tempered, a sort of little heaven below.""If you have not such a home, my dear, are you sure it is not partly your own fault?""Of course it is my own fault.Because I am very quick-tempered Iwant to live with good-tempered people."
"That is very benevolent in you," she said, archly.
I colored, but went on.
"Oh, I know I am selfish.And therefore I want live with those who are not so.I want to live with persons to whom I can look for an example, and who will constantly stimulate me to something higher.""But if God chooses quite another lot for you, you may be sure that He sees that you need something totally different from what you want.
You just now that you would gladly go through any trial in order to attain a personal love to Christ that should become the ruling principle of your life.Now as soon as God sees this desire in you, is He not kind, is He not wise, in appointing such trials as He knows will lead to this end?"I meditated long before I answered.Was God really asking me not merely to let Martha and her father live with me on sufferance, but to rejoice that He had seen fit to let them harass and embitter my domestic life?""I thank you for the suggestion," I said, at last.
"1 want to say one thing more," Mrs.Campbell resumed, after another pause."We look at our fellow-men too much from the standpoint of our own prejudices.They may be wrong, they may have their faults and foibles, they may call out all that is meanest and most hateful in us.But they are not all wrong; they have their virtues, and when they excite our bad passions by their own, they may be as ashamed and sorry as we are irritated.And I think some of the best, most contrite, most useful of men and women, whose prayers prevail with God, and bring down blessings into the homes in which they dwell often possess unlovely traits that furnish them with their best discipline.The very fact that they are ashamed of themselves drives them to God; they feel safe in His presence, and while they lie in the very dust of self-confusion at His feet they are dear to Him and have power with Him.""That is a comforting word, and I thank you for it," I said.My heart was full, and I longed to stay and hear her talk on.But I had already exhausted her strength.On the way home I felt as I suppose people do when they have caught a basketful of fish.I always am delighted to catch a new idea; I thought I would get all the benefit out of Martha and her father, and as I went down to tea, after taking off my things, felt like a holy martyr who had as good as won a crown.
I found, however, that the butter was horrible.Martha had insisted that she alone was capable of selecting that article, and had ordered a quantity from her own village which I could not eat myself and was ashamed to have on my table.I pushed back my plate in disgust.
"I hope, Martha, that you have not ordered much of this odious stuff!" I cried.
Martha replied that it was of the very first quality, and appealed to her father and Ernest, who both agreed with her, which I thought very unkind and unjust.I rushed into a hot debate on the subject, during which Ernest maintained that ominous silence that indicates his not being pleased, and it irritated and led me on.I would far rather he should say, "Katy, you are behaving like a child and I wish you would stop talking.""Martha," I said, "you will persist that the butter is good, because you ordered it.If you will only own that, I won't say another word.""I can't say it," she returned."Mrs.Jones' butter is invariably good.I never heard it found fault with before.The trouble is you are so hard to please.""No, I am not.And you can't convince me that if the buttermilk is not perfectly worked out, the butter could be fit to eat."This speech I felt to be a masterpiece.It was time to let her know how learned I was on the subject of butter, though I wasn't brought up to make it or see it made.
But here Ernest put in a little oil.
"I think you are both right," he said."Mrs.Jones makes good butter, but just this once she failed.I dare say it won't happen again, and mean while this can be used for making seed-cakes, and we can get a new supply."This was his masterpiece.A whole firkin of butter made up into seed-cakes!
Martha turned to encounter him on that head, and I slipped off to my room to look, with a miserable sense of disappointment, at my folly and weakness in making so much ado about nothing.I find it hard to believe that it can do me good to have people live with me who like rancid butter, and who disagree with me in everything else.
