"
Pauline bent over her father and read it again.
"Qui cree l'adversite," she said. "Do you believe that?"
"If it is there I do," said Zachariah.
"Well, I don't."
"What's adversity to hell fire? If He made hell-fire, why not
adversity? Besides, if He did not, who did?"
"Don't know a bit, and don't mean to bother myself about it."
"Right!" broke in Jean--"right, my child; bother--that is a good
word. Don't bother yourself about anything when--bothering will not
benefit. There is so much in the world which will--bear a
botheration out of which some profit will arise. Now, then, clear
the room, and let Zachariah see your art."
The plates and dishes were all put in a heap and the table pushed
aside. Pauline retired for a few moments, and presently came back in
a short dress of black velvet, which reached about half-way down from
the knee to the ankle. It was trimmed with red; she had stuck a red
artificial flower in her hair, and had on a pair of red stockings
with dancing slippers, probably of her own make. Over her shoulders
was a light gauzy shawl. Her father took his station in a corner,
and motioned to Zachariah to compress himself into another.
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