Yet you cannot live in the world superior to all such considerations, if you are poor. I know the lilies are gorgeously arrayed, and the ravens fed; but, when you are not a lily, or not a raven, and the wants and the work come, you must endure the one, and go courageously at the other.
At this point in my reflections I entered the room and encountered the wan, eager eyes.
“Did I interrupt you, or call you away from something pleasant? I am so sorry. I was so lonesome, and—”
It was a good deal for him to say. Had we changed places and was I ungracious?
“It was not anything special. Have you been long awake?”
“More than an hour.”
“Then it is I who ought to apologize,” I said, cheerfully. “Can I get you anything?—Are you not hungry?”
“I would like to have a drink of good, cold water. I am a deal of trouble, am I not?”
“If I were sick I would like some one to wait upon me,” I said, and ran down stairs.—Ann was at the end of the garden, picking berries; so I drew the water myself; and as I brought the bucket up to the curb, the woman of Samaria came into my mind. If I could give any such comfort of living water! Did I really desire to? So far I had done barely what was required of me. It did not look half as enchanting as reading to and amusing Miss Lucy Churchill. But wasn’t there a good work in it as well?
I entered the room with a glass pitcher, through which the water shone and sparkled. There was such a thirsty, longing look in his eyes that I was glad to minister to him.