Harry and Laura were surprised to find the fields and walks near London so very rural and beautiful as they appeared at Hammersmith, and to meet with much more simplicity and kindness among the common people than they had anticipated. The poorer neighbours, who became aware of their affliction, testified a degree of sympathy which frequently astonished them, and was often afterwards remembered with pleasure, one instance of which seemed peculiarly touching to Laura. Frank always suffered most acutely during the night, and seldom closed his eyes in sleep till morning, therefore she invariably remained with him, to beguile those weary hours, while any remonstrance [238] ]on his part against so fatiguing a duty, became a mere waste of words, as she only grew sadder and paler, saying, there would be time enough to take care of herself when she could no longer be of use to him. The earliest thing that gave any relief to Frank’s cough every day, generally was, a tumbler of milk, warm from the cow, which had been ordered for him, and was brought almost as soon as the dawn of light. Once, when Frank had been unusually ill, and sighed in restless agony till morning, Laura watched impatiently for day, and when the milkman was seen, at six o’clock, slowly trudging through the fields, and advancing leisurely towards the house, Laura hurried eagerly down to meet him, exclaiming in accents of joy, while she held out the tumbler, “Oh! I am so glad you are come at last!”

“At last, Miss!! I am as early as usual!” replied he, gruffly. “It’s not many poor folks that gets up so soon to their work, and if you had to labour as hard as me all day, you would maybe think the morning came too soon.”

“I am seldom in bed all night,” answered Laura, sadly. “My poor sick brother cannot rest till this milk is brought, and I wait with him, hour after hour till daylight, wearying for you to come.”

The old dairyman looked with sorrowful surprise at Laura, while she, thinking no more of what had passed, hurried away; but next morning, when sitting up again with Frank, she became surprised to observe the milkman a whole hour earlier than usual, plodding along towards his cattle at a peculiarly rapid pace. He stayed not more than five minutes, only milking one cow, though all the others gathered round him, and as soon as he had filled his little pail, he came straight toward Major Graham’s cottage, and knocked at the door. Laura instantly ran down to thank him with her whole heart for his kind attention, after which, [239] ]as long as Frank continued ill, the old dairyman rose long before his usual time, to bring this welcome refreshment.

Frank desired Laura to beg that he would not take so much trouble, or else to insist on his accepting some remuneration, but the old man would neither discontinue the custom, nor receive any recompense.

“Let me see this kind good dairyman, to thank him myself,” said Frank, one night, when he felt rather easier; and next morning, Laura invited poor Teddy Collins to walk up stairs, who looked exceedingly astonished, though very much pleased at the proposal, saying, “May be, Ma’am, the poor young gentleman would not like to see a stranger like me!”

“No one is a stranger who feels for him as you have done,” replied Laura, leading the way, and Frank’s countenance lighted up with a smile of pleasure when they entered his room. He held out his thin emaciated hand to Teddy, who looked earnestly and sorrowfully in his face as he grasped hold of it, saying, “You look very poorly, Sir! I’m afraid, indeed, you are sadly ill.”

“That I am! as ill as any one can be on this side of eternity! My tale is told, my days are numbered; but I would not go out of this world without saying how grateful we both feel for your attention. As a cup of cold water given in Christian kindness shall hereafter be rewarded, I trust also that your attention to me may not be forgotten.”

“You are heartily welcome, Sir! It is a great honour for a poor old man like me to oblige anybody. I shall not long be able for work now, seeing that I am upwards of threescore and ten, and my days are already full of labour and sorrow.”

“To both of us, then, the night is far spent, and the day is at hand,” replied Frank—“How strange it seems, that, old as you are. I am still older; my feeble frame will be sooner worn out, and my body laid at rest in the grave! [240] ]Let me hope that you have already applied your heart to wisdom, for every child of earth must, sooner or later, find how short is every thing but eternity. While I appear before you here as a spectacle of mortality, think how soon and how certainly you must follow. May you then find, as I do, that even in the last extreme of sickness and sorrow, there is comfort in looking forward to such blessings as ‘eye hath not seen, nor ear heard.’ Farewell, my kind friend! In this world we shall meet no more, but there is another and a better.”