“He was very helpful to me, and the only company I had.” She stretched out her hand again for her handkerchief, and Mr. Byers made a simultaneous movement for his hat. Then, as if by mutual and silent understanding, they both withdrew their hands, and the good lady resumed her knitting.
“I only hope and pray,” she continued, “that he may not fall into bad company and evil ways. Verily, it would be much better, Mr. Byers, to hear that he was dead.”
“Very much, Mrs. Dorothy.”
“But O! to think of such a dreadful thing as hearing of his death!” and there was an obvious tremor in her voice, highly suggestive of tears. She winked and swallowed hard, however, and continued—
“I read my Bible often, Mr. Byers, and—“ Here she made a significant pause.
“Yes, yes,” said the old gentleman nervously, as he seized the open volume from the stand; “I have no doubt you do. Let’s see, where is it, and what is it about?” He drew his time-worn spectacle case from his pocket, and taking out the big, clumsily-bowed glasses, placed them upon his nose.
“It’s what the Apostle says about charity, Mr. Byers, and I should think by the way it reads that it was a very good thing.”
“Excellent! Excellent, Mrs. Dorothy, when taken in its right sense; for look you, my good woman—” Here Mr. Byers extended his right hand, with the fore finger up, and regarded his auditor over his spectacles with a look of profound wisdom—“it’s love the apostle means—love of the first quality. A kind of love, Mrs. Dorothy, that won’t give up, not break down, nor back out, however much it gets—gets snubbed—excuse the word—or pestered, or imposed upon; but like gutta percha, can be crowded into a very small space, or drawn out to any extent without snapping asunder. It’s the very cream of life, Mrs. Dorothy, mingled in with honey and the otto of roses, and we should all be brute beasts without it.”
“Yea, verily,” responded the good lady, with great earnestness.
“And I can truly say, Mrs. Dorothy, that if these words were all that my Bible contained, I would not part with it for the wealth of the Indies; for is it not a comfort, in this crooked and cross-grained world, to find something that will not fail us? We can’t all be Daniels or Isaiahs, or have the wisdom of Solomon or Paul, but the simplest one among us knows how to love. Prophecies shall fail, and knowledge vanish away, but charity never faileth. Mrs. Dorothy, I’ll thank you for a glass of water.” No sooner had the good lady arisen to comply with her visitor’s request, than Mr. Byers drew the letter from his pocket, slipped it between the leaves of the Bible at his favorite chapter, and closing the volume, laid it upon the table.