“When Rogers had thanked God, he rose, took my hand, and said:—
“Mr Walton, you WILL preach now. I thank God for the good we shall all get from the trouble you have gone through.”
“I ought to be the better for it,” I answered.
“You WILL be the better for it,” he returned. “I believe I’ve allus been the better for any trouble as ever I had to go through with. I couldn’t quite say the same for every bit of good luck I had; leastways, I consider trouble the best luck a man can have. And I wish you a good night, sir. Thank God! again.”
“But, Rogers, you don’t mean it would be good for us to have bad luck always, do you? You shouldn’t be pleased at what’s come to me now, in that case.”
“No, sir, sartinly not.”
“How can you say, then, that bad luck is the best luck?”
“I mean the bad luck that comes to us—not the bad luck that doesn’t come. But you’re right, sir. Good luck or bad luck’s both best when HE sends ’em, as He allus does. In fac’, sir, there is no bad luck but what comes out o’ the man hisself. The rest’s all good.”
Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood
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