“Nay, I was to hear your biggest, you know,” said Jenny slily.
“Well, Jenny, the biggest mistake ever I made, next after that biggest of all that you spoke of just now—was to fancy that I could forget Jenny Lavender, my old love.”
Two hours afterwards, the door of old Anthony’s cottage opened about an inch.
“Uncle Anthony, are you there?”
“Ay, lad. Come in, Tom.”
“Don’t want to come in. I only want to tell you that the Lord’s given me back the greatest thing I ever gave up for Him.”
Old Anthony understood in a moment.
“Ay so, Tom? I’m fain for thee. And thou’lt be glad all thy life long, my lad, that thou waited for the Lord to give it thee, and didn’t snatch it like out of His hand. We’re oft like children, that willn’t wait till the fruit be ripe, but makes theirselves ill by eating it green. And when folks does that, there’s no great pleasure in the eating, and a deal of pain at after.”
“That’s true. Well, good night, Uncle Anthony. I thought I’d just let you know.”
“I’m right glad to know it, my dear lad. Good night, and God bless thee!”