After both heads were resting on their pillows, and quiet reigned in
the room, Ester's eyes were wide open. Her Cousin Abbie had astonished
her; she was totally unlike the Cousin Abbie of her dreams in
every particular; in nothing more so than the strangely childlike
matter-of-course way in which she talked about this matter of
religion. Ester had never in her life heard any one talk like that,
except, perhaps, that minister who had spoken to her in the depot.
His religion seemed not unlike Abbie's. Thinking of him, she suddenly
addressed Abbie again.
"There was a minister in the depot to-day, and he spoke to me;" then
the entire story of the man with his tract, and the girl with blue
ribbons, and the old lady, and the young minister, and bits of the
conversation, were gone over for Abbie's benefit.
And Abbie listened, and commented, and enjoyed every word of it, until
the little clock on the mantel spoke in silver tones, and said, one,
two. Then Abbie grew penitent again.
"Positively, Ester, I won't speak again: you will be sleepy all day
to-morrow, and you needn't think I shall give you a chance even to
wink. Good-night."
"Good-night," repeated Ester; but she still kept her eyes wide
open.
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