"I told Tom it was just a picture of him, and the Lord is bending over him, and wanting to cure him, if he'll only let Him do it."
"Doesn't he want his leg mended?"
"Ay, that he does, but 'tis his sick soul the Lord wants to handle. I told him he trusted the doctor about his leg, and so why couldn't he just give over his soul to the Lord to be made sweet and whole. He seemed rare softened, he did!"
"And I suppose if he gave it, he'd never drink again!"
"The Lord would keep him," said Miss Triggs, almost in a whisper.
"It would be lovely!" said Harebell earnestly. "I wish I could go and see Tom! Aunt Diana won't let me; and now she's away. Will you take him a message from me? It's a very solemn one."
"Yes, he did ask me if I'd seen you. I hadn't, so could tell him nothing."
"Well, please tell him that Fanny Crake says that the drinking must stop first, and then the work must begot, and then the wife comes next. I don't know about the cottage; that will come last, I s'pose. Will you be sure to tell him Fanny said it. He'll understand, for I think she'd do very well, only she won't think about it now. It's rather nasty of her, because it would cheer him up so, wouldn't it? I'm sure we ought to try to make him happy—poor Tom! He says nobody cares for him!"
Mrs. Triggs had not paid much attention to the conversation, but she now turned her head sharply round.
"Is that my Tom you be speakin' of? His mother cares for him more'n all the world! He was such a handsome baby—took arter his father—who were a fine, upstandin' man, but with a taste for the beer. Tom be made arter the same pattern. An' I says if God and Natur' made him so, why blame the poor lad? An' he never have given his mother an unkind word!"