“If I had only received my punishment humbly, things would have been very different now. But I do take it—at least I want to take it—just as He would have me take it. I will bear anything He likes. I suppose I must die?”
“I think He means you to die now. You are ready for it now, I think. You have wanted to die for a long time; but you were not ready for it before.”
“And now I want to live for my boy. But His will be done.”
“Amen. There is no such prayer in the universe as that. It means everything best and most beautiful. Thy will, O God, evermore be done.”
She lay silent. A tap came to the chamber-door. It was Mary, who nursed her sister and attended to the shop.
“If you please, sir, here’s a little girl come to say that Mrs Tomkins is dying, and wants to see you.”
“Then I must say good-night to you, Catherine. I will see you to-morrow morning. Think about old Mrs Tomkins; she’s a good old soul; and when you find your heart drawn to her in the trouble of death, then lift it up to God for her, that He will please to comfort and support her, and make her happier than health—stronger than strength, taking off the old worn garment of her body, and putting upon her the garment of salvation, which will be a grand new body, like that the Saviour had when He rose again.”
“I will try. I will think about her.”
For I thought this would be a help to prepare her for her own death. In thinking lovingly about others, we think healthily about ourselves. And the things she thought of for the comfort of Mrs Tomkins, would return to comfort herself in the prospect of her own end, when perhaps she might not be able to think them out for herself.