* I Thess. v. 8.
Such thoughts as these made the heart of Ned Franks bound with a sense of enjoyment such as monarchs might have envied. And yet he was a poor man, a maimed man, one who had been cut off in his prime from a profession that he loved! Save his niece, little Norah, of whom he was very fond, there was not one of his family living who sympathised with Ned Franks, or gave him any real pleasure. Many would have said that the teacher at Colme had not much to render him happy; and yet no stranger could have looked on that buoyant step and beaming eye without seeing that something within was throwing a charm over life, like the hoar frost encrusting with beauty the dull twig and the leafless tree!
The cottage of Persis Meade looked very pretty, with its gable-end overhung with frosted ivy, and sparkling icicles drooping from the eaves. It was so retired in its little dell, that to the sailor it suggested the idea of a bird's nest hidden in a bush. The door stood open, for Persis had just been fetching water from the well, so Franks could see into the cottage as he strode up the narrow path. An old man, very feeble and almost bent double, clad in a thick white flannel wrapper, was tottering towards an arm-chair placed for him by the fire, tenderly supported by a young woman of very pleasing appearance. Persis was so intent on her dutiful office, that she did not hear Ned's tap at the door, and was a little surprised at seeing him enter. The teacher was no stranger to her, however, as Franks' name and character were known through the village; and though somewhat wondering at so early a visit, Persis received the maimed sailor kindly.
"Who's he? What has he done with his hand?" said the old man in a feeble, quavering voice, pointing with his trembling finger to the book which appeared from under the sailor's almost empty sleeve.
"It is Mr. Franks, the teacher at the school, dear grandfather," said Persis, raising her voice and bending towards the deaf man's ear.
"What has he done with his hand?" repeated old Meade.
"I lost it in a lubberly way—had a tumble in the dark," replied Ned, who never liked the question, both because it reminded him of what he was tempted to think a provoking accident, and because he knew that slander had reported that he must have been drunk at the time.
"Will you not take a seat, Sir?" said Persis.
Franks had taken off his hat on coming in, with the same respect that he would have shown on entering a lady's drawing-room. Before he sat down he assisted Persis in arranging pillows behind her grandfather's head, and in changing the position of his chair, for old Meade was fidgety and restless, and it did not seem easy to please him.
"What have you done with your hand?" he asked again, as Ned Franks at last took a seat.