“Yes. Do you remember— No, you could hardly have known: but I will tell you. He had planned a most beautiful set of carvings in wood for a chapel belonging to a nobleman’s mansion. He was to be well paid,—his work was so superior; and he would be able to make his parents comfortable, as well as his wife and children. But the thing he most cared for was the honour of producing a noble work which would outlive him. Well, at the very beginning of his task, his chisel flew up against his wrist: and the narrow cut that it made,—not more than half an inch wide,—made his right-hand entirely useless for life. He could never again hold a tool;—his work was gone,—his business in life seemed over,—the support of the whole family was taken away—and the only strong wish Richard Grant had in the world was disappointed.”
Hugh hid his face with his handkerchief, and his mother went on:
“You have heard of Huber.”
“The man who found out so much about bees. Miss Harold read that account to us.”
“Bees and ants. When Huber had discovered more than had ever been known before about bees and ants, and when he was sure he could learn more still, and was more and more anxious to peep and pry into their tiny homes, and their curious ways, Huber became blind.”
Hugh sighed, and his mother went on:
“Did you ever hear of Beethoven? He was one of the greatest musical composers that ever lived. His great, his sole delight was in music. It was the passion of his life. When all his time and all his mind were given to music, he became deaf—perfectly deaf; so that he never more heard one single note from the loudest orchestra. While crowds were moved and delighted with his compositions, it was all silence to him.”
Hugh said nothing.
“Now, do you think,” asked his mother,—and Hugh saw by the grey light that began to shine in, that she smiled—“do you think that these people were without a heavenly Parent?”
“O no! But were they all patient?”