“Haven’t I done a lot of good in my life?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve had bitter sorrows. They’ve made me—disagreeable, eh? Well, listen. Once a man borrowed my money and died without paying it. Because of that debt, which I half-forgot, and their silly notions of honor his family have always been poor. I didn’t know they worried so—until it was too late. Then I let it go on. It was less trouble than the other way. And exertion is good for—other people. Patterson! leave tidying this room and sit down.”
“Yes, ma’am. It often is ‘too late’ in this world.”
“Why—Patterson! I say, leave tidying the room. You’re always at it when you aren’t ‘eating your tea,’ and I’ve something to tell you, Patterson! Sit down! I bid you. I’ve that to tell you that will, that must, wake you up at last.”
“Yes, ma’am,” and something in her mistress’s manner did catch the attention of this faithful old servant, of long service and short speech.
“Good Patterson—Do you remember Mary?”
Then, indeed, did the “worm turn.”
“Remember Mary? How can you ask me that? Wasn’t I her nurse? Wasn’t she the sweetest girl who ever lived? Didn’t I love her like my own soul? Ah! indeed, but I do remember Mary. It was I who dressed her for her wedding, which you’d forbidden. Do I—remember—Mary?”
“There, there. That was fine. Magnificent. I thought there was fire in you somewhere, if a body only had gunpowder enough about her to set it flashing. Well—I, too, remember Mary. Ah! Patterson! how well!”