“Do not vex yourself unnecessarily,” he remarked.  “If any thing has gone wrong with you, deal frankly with your minister.  You know that I am ever ready to counsel and advise.”

“I know it,” said Aunt Mary, and her voice trembled.  “And I need much your kind direction.  Yet I hardly know how to tell you my troubles.  One thing, however, is certain.  I have done wrong.  But how to mend that wrong I know not, while there exists an unwillingness on my part to correct it.”

“You must shun evil as sin,” the minister remarked in a serious tone.

“I know, and it is for that reason I am troubled.  I have unkind thoughts, and they are evil, and yet I cannot put these unkind thoughts away.”

For a moment the minister sat silent, and then, looking up with a smile, said—­

“Come, Aunt Mary, be open and frank.  Tell me all the particulars of your troubles, and then I am sure I can help you.”

Aunt Mary, in turn, sat silent and thoughtful for a short period, and then, raising her head, she proceeded to relate her troubles.  She told him how much she had been tried, year after year, during the preserving season, by the neighbours who had borrowed her preserving kettle.  It was the best in the village, and she took a pride in it, but she could have no satisfaction in its possession.  It was always going, and never returned in good order.  She then frankly related how she had been tried by Mrs. Tompkins, and how nearly all of her preserves were spoiled, because she could not get home her kettle,—­how the unkind feelings which had suddenly sprung up between them in consequence had troubled her, and even caused her to abstain, under conscientious scruples, from the communion.

The minister’s heart felt lighter in his bosom as she concluded her simple narrative, and, smiling encouragingly, he said—­“Don’t let it trouble you, Aunt Mary; it will all come right again.  You have certainly been treated very badly, and I don’t wonder at all that your feelings were tried.”

“But what shall I do?” asked Aunt Mary, eagerly.  “I feel very much troubled, and am very anxious to have all unkindness done away.”

“Do you think you can forgive Mrs. Tompkins?”

“Oh, yes.  She has not acted kindly, but I can forgive her from my heart.”

“Then you might call over and see her, and explain the whole matter.  I am sure all difficulties will end there.”

“I will go this day,” Aunt Mary said, encouragingly.

The minister sat a short time longer, and then went away.  He had no sooner gone, than Aunt Mary put on her things and went directly over to Mrs. Tompkins.

“Good morning, Mrs. Pierce,” that lady said, coolly, as her visitor entered.  She had always before called Aunt Mary by the familiar name by which she was known in the village.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tompkins.  I have come over to say that I am very sorry if I offended you on Saturday.  I am sure I did not mean to do so.  I only sent for my kettle, and would not have done that, had not some seven or eight jars of preserves been working.”