'I am glad; very, very glad!'
My wife knows and approves of the task I am engaged upon.
'It will do good, Andrew,' she says; 'I am sure it will.'
In my heart of hearts I hope so. If ever so little good results from these words of mine, if but a seed is sown, if but a little sympathy is roused to action which otherwise would have lain dormant, I shall be amply repaid.
My wife, like myself, is an orphan; unlike myself, she never knew father or mother. But she had, and has, those who stand to her in that relation. In the house of these dear souls I first met her.
Their name is Silver. The maternal instinct is implanted in the breast of every good woman, and it was a great grief to the Silvers that their union was a barren one; but they turned their sorrow to good use. Childless themselves, they, to the full extent of their means, adopted a family of children, and trained them in such a manner as to make their lives a blessing to them and to those around them. I cannot hope to give you an idea of the perfect goodness of the lives of these two dear friends, to whom my present and future happiness is due. I thank God that I know them, and that they account me their friend. Could the example which they have set in their small way and with their small means be followed out on a larger scale, in other places and localities than those in which I labour, a blessing would fall upon the land, and humanity itself would be ennobled. These children, when Mr. and Mrs. Silver adopted them, were babes, unconscious of the perils which lay before them, and only those were selected who had no parents. The time chosen for their adoption was within a week or two of Christmas. They were found in the most miserable courts and alleys in the metropolis; they were surrounded by ignorance, poverty, dirt, and crime. God knows into what form of shame they might have developed, had they been left to grow up in accordance with their surroundings. But a happier fate is theirs. Under the influence of a sweet and wise benevolence they have grown into good and useful men and women, of whom their country may be justly proud.
I made the acquaintance of the Silvers almost as soon as I had entered upon my duties; but circumstances did not bring us together, and I was not very intimate with them until some time afterwards. I had heard much of their goodness, for they are loved in the neighbourhood; every man and woman has a good word for them.
One memorable day in August, more than four years ago now, I received a note from Mrs. Silver, who lived in Buttercup-square, asking me as a great favour to visit her in the evening, if I had the time to spare. I was glad of the opportunity of seeing something of a household of which I had heard so much good, and from that evening our actual friendship commenced. There were present Mr. and Mrs. Silver, and two of their adopted children, Mary and Rachel. They received me cordially, and I felt that I was among friends. I saw that Rachel was blind, and it touched me deeply, at that time and always afterwards, to witness their tender thoughtfulness for the dear girl's calamity. Not, I truly believe, that it is a calamity to her. She has been so wisely trained, and has such strong inherent gratitude for the love which is shed upon her, for the blessings by which she is surrounded, that a repining thought never enters her mind. The effect of her grateful nature is shown in the purity of her face, in the modesty of her every movement. Were I a sculptor, it would be my earnest wish to take her face as a model for Purity, and were I talented enough to be faithful in the reproduction, I am sure that my fame would be made.
'These are only two of our children,' said Mrs. Silver, after I had shaken hands all round; 'we have three more--Ruth and Charley, who took into their heads to fall in love with each other, and are married; and Richard, who is in Canada, and from whom we have received a letter to-day. Ruth has a baby, and she and her husband will be here in half-an-hour.'
'Not the baby, mother!' said Mary.