After all I had not done anything very wonderful that there should be such a fuss and thanks and all that bother. It annoyed me. I could not carry triumphs gracefully as Fan did, sit in the centre and have an admiring audience around me.
One part of the visit proved an unalloyed delight, and that was papa’s enjoyment of it. He and Mr. Duncan fitted, if you can understand the term. It was almost like father and son. Plans were talked over, the boys’ future discussed, and in Stephen’s newer experience there was a great charm. Like the young man who came to Christ, he had kept the commandments from his youth up, he had been truth and integrity itself, but the one greater thing had come to him now. It crowned his manliness. He did not speak of it in a shame-faced way, as if it was something to be kept on one side of his life and rather in the background, but he set it in the very midst. A rare, almost boyish humility was discernable in his conversations with papa. I liked so much better to listen than to have him talk to me.
“I am afraid I shall grow proud in my old days,” said papa a few evenings afterward. “Such first fruits as Mr. Duncan and Miss Churchill seem a whole harvest. I shall never be discouraged again.”
Indeed, Miss Churchill had become the Lady Bountiful of the parish. I do not mean simply among the poor. The rich need the gospel of charity and loving kindness as well. They were meeting together, being incited to good works, losing the narrow feelings and prejudices.
Fan and I had a lovely episode this summer. Just at the beginning of the hot weather Miss Lucy had a spell of feeling very weak and miserable.
“She must have a change,” declared good old Doctor Hawley. “She has been among the mountains so long that she has worn them out. Take her away to the sea-side.”
“I can’t go,” said Miss Lucy in faint protest. “I do not like strange faces nor places, and the worry and bustle will consume what little strength I have.”
“You will wear out this old strength and get some new. You are tired to death of this, though you are so set in your way that you will not confess it. I know what is best for you! Miss Esther, if you want to keep Christmas with her, take her away now.”
Then he thumped his cane resolutely on the floor, a way he had when he was very much in earnest.
When it came to that something must be done.