"The work of men--and what is that? Well we may, any of us, know very quickly, on the condition of being wholly ready to do it.
"But many of us are for the most part thinking, not of what we are to do, but of what we are to get; and the best of us are sunk into the sin of Ananias, and it is a mortal one--we want to keep back part of the price; and we continually talk of taking up our cross, as if the only harm in a cross were the weight of it--as if it were only a thing to be carried instead of to be crucified upon.
"'They that are His have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.'
"Does that mean, think you, that in times of national distress, of religious trial, of crises for every interest and hope of humanity--none of you will cease jesting, none will cease idling, none put themselves to any wholesome work, none take so much as a tag of lace off their footmen's coats to save the world? Or does it rather mean that they are ready to leave houses and lands and kindred--yes, and life if need be? Life! Some of us are ready enough to throw that away, joyless as we have made it. But station in life--how many are ready to quit that? Is it not always the great objection when there is a question of finding something useful to do--we cannot leave our stations in life?"--(John Ruskin.)
"LITTLE BROTHER, LITTLE BROTHER, LET ME TELL YOU A STORY AS I USED TO" (Page [195])
Margaret found her mother ill. She had been working beyond her strength, and the exposure and hardship of the work had worn her out; and her eyes, tried beyond their strength, had almost failed her. Dr. Eldrige Jr. had told her that the only hope of saving them lay in rest and quiet. But how impossible was this; she had no means, for years she had worked beyond her strength to keep herself from beggary. Jamie, the cripple, was not able to leave his couch without help. Day after day, while his mother worked for the pittance that kept them alive, he lay on his little cot, alone; often in pain, always lonely, counting the hours until his mother's return.
"We will take your mother and Jamie home with us, Margaret," Mrs. Thorpe said. "We can all live together until your mother is well again, and Jamie need not be alone."
Margaret consented to the plan. She understood the power that ruled Mrs. Thorpe's life and prompted her actions. She had looked into her face and found it warm with kindness, and with keener vision she had looked into her heart and found it touched with the feeling of another's infirmities. She knew that this thing that she proposed to do was not an act of charity prompted by the desire to save the harrowing of her own feelings, but because of her loving kindness she desired to do it.
Mrs. McGowan was too much overcome by the restoration of her girl to protest, and Jamie was radiant at the prospect. Mrs. Thorpe called on Mrs. Mayhew and left Margaret alone with her mother for a time. And afterwards Mrs. Mayhew sent her carriage to take Mrs. McGowan and Jamie to Mrs. Thorpe's cottage. Before parting, Mrs. Mayhew pressed a banknote into Mrs. Thorpe's hand.