The mystery of death had unsealed her eyes, and there had
been a moment when the sad and bitter woman might have been drawn closer
to the great Father-heart, there to feel the throb of a Divine
compassion that would have sweetened the trial and made the burden
lighter. But the minister of the parish proved a sorry comforter and
adviser in these hours of trial. The Reverend Joshua Beckwith, whose
view of God's universe was about as broad as if he had lived on the
inside of his own pork-barrel, had cherished certain strong and
unrelenting opinions concerning Martha's final destination, which were
not shared by Miss Cummins. Martha, therefore, was not laid with the
elect, but was put to rest in the orchard, under the kindly,
untheological shade of the apple trees; and they scattered their tinted
blossoms over her little white headstone, shed their fragrance about her
quiet grave, and dropped their ruddy fruit in the high grass that
covered it, just as tenderly and respectfully as if they had been
regulation willows. The Reverend Joshua thus succeeded in drying up the
springs of human sympathy in Miss Avilda's heart when most she needed
comfort and gentle teaching; and, distrusting God for the moment, as
well as his inexorable priest, she left her place in the old
meeting-house where she had "worshiped" ever since she had acquired
adhesiveness enough to stick to a pew, and was not seen there again for
many years. The Reverend Joshua had died, as all men must and as most
men should; and a mild-voiced successor reigned in his place; so the
Cummins pew was occupied once more.
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