“I think it is a very solemn consideration. I have often thought of good angels around me; but we may well ‘work out our salvation with fear and trembling,’ if evil ones are waiting to hinder us at every turn.”
“And you see, then, how even good angels may hev to be varry prudent about t’ blessings they hev on t’ road to us. So they come as surprises. I don’t think it’s iver well, even wi’ oursel’s, to blow a trumpet before any thing we’re going to do. After we hev got t’ good thing, after we hev done t’ great thing, it’ll be a varry good time to talk about it. Many a night I’ve thought o’ t’ words on my little Wesley tea-pot, and just said ‘em softly, down in my heart, ‘In God we trust.’ But tonight I hev put a bit o’ holly all around it, and I hev filled it full o’ t’ freshest greens and flowers I could get, and I s’all stand boldly up before it, and say out loud—‘In God we trust!’”
CHAPTER X.
“When we have hoped and sought and striven and lost our aim,
then the truth fronts us, beaming out of the darkness.”
“Speaking of things remembered, and so sit
Speechless while things forgotten call to us.”
“We, who say as we go,
‘Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That we shall know one day.’”
“I would tell her every thing.”
It was the rector who spoke. He and Richard were sitting before the study fire; they had been talking long and seriously, and the rector’s eyes were dim and troubled. “Yes, I would tell her every thing.” Then he put his pipe down, and began to walk about the floor, murmuring at intervals, “Poor fellow! poor fellow! God is merciful.”
In accord with this advice Richard went to see Elizabeth. It was a painful story he had to tell, and he was half inclined to hide all but the unavoidable in his own heart; but he could not doubt the wisdom which counseled him “to tell all, and tell it as soon as possible.” The opportunity occurred immediately. He found Elizabeth mending, with skillful fingers, some fine old lace, which she was going to make into ruffles for Harry’s neck and wrists. It was a stormy morning, and the boy had not been permitted to go to the village, but he sat beside her, reading aloud that delight of boyhood, “Robinson Crusoe.”
Elizabeth had never removed her mourning, but her fair hair and white linen collar and cuffs made an exquisite contrast to the soft somber folds of her dress; while Harry was just a bit of brilliant color, from the tawny gold of his long curls to the rich lights of his crimson velvet suit, with its white lace and snowy hose, and low shoes tied with crimson ribbons.