“Where was he from?”
“He was the curate of the parish where she used to live, was with her husband when he was sick, and read the service at his funeral; and he had christened this child, and aye been a friend to them.”
“She told me the parson o’ the parish was a feckless do-little, naebody thought he had any grace; this curate did all the work and visited the people, who almost worshipped him.”
“Did he come any more?”
“Ay, till she died, and then attended the burial. For four years after her death he came three times a year to see the child, and would take him on his knees and tell him stories out of the Bible and teach him the Lord’s prayer. He made the child promise him that he would never lie, nor swear, nor steal, and taught him a’ the commandments. He likewise made me promise that I would hear him say the Lord’s prayer, when I put him to bed, and that I would be kind to him. I did hear him say the prayer, but I was never kind to him, for ‘tis not in my nature to be kind to any body, but I used to beat him when he vexed me.”
“Who was this boy’s father?”
“He was a hedger and ditcher, and rented a small cottage, and grass for a cow, in the parish where the curate lived. After his death, his widow came to Liverpool, because she had a sister here who had saved money by living at service, and they rented a house, and took boarders, and washed and ironed; but her sister got married and went to Canada, and she was taken sick, and came here to die.”
“What became of the curate?”
“He came here till the laddie was seven years auld, and then he came to bid him good-by, because he was going to be chaplain in a man-of-war, and the laddie grat as though his heart wad break.
“The curate gave him his mother’s Bible, but little good will it do him, for he canna read a word, nor tell the Lord’s prayer when he sees it in print.” Finding her visitor was about to leave, she said,—