“Ah, Roger, there is beauty in every human soul,” said the little old lady, eloquently. “The trouble is we are all too much taken up with externals. There is something pathetic to me about this man. Hard-working, ambitious, longing for congenial companionship, not knowing just where to get it, he keeps on at his daily treadmill. He has got to be a kind of machine, and he has tried to stifle the spirit within him. Berty, with her youth and freshness, has, in some way or other, the knack of putting her finger on some sensitive nerve that responds easily to her touch. He is becoming quite interested in what she is interested in.”
Roger was staring at her in great amusement. “You talk well, Grandma, and at unusual length for you, but a man convinced against his will, you know—”
The old lady smiled sweetly at him, smiled with the patience of one who is willing to wait a long time in order to be understood. Then knitting steadily without looking at her work, she gazed far out over the beautiful river.
It was very wide just here, and, now that evening was falling, they could barely distinguish the fields and white farmhouses on the other side. The stars were coming out one by one—those “beautiful seeds sown in the field of the sky.” Roger could see the old lady’s lips moving. She was probably repeating some favourite passages of Scripture. What a good woman she was. What a help to him, and what a valuable supplement to his own mother, who was a woman of another type.
His eyes grew moist, and for a long time he sat gazing with her at the darkening yet increasingly beautiful sky and river.
The hammering went on below, until Berty’s voice suddenly rang out. “We’ll have to stop, Mr. Jimson. It’s getting too dark to see where to put the nails.”
“I’ll come help you to-morrow evening,” replied the Mayor, in his thick, good-natured voice.
“No, thank you. I won’t trouble you. I’ll get a carpenter. You’ve been too good already.”
“I like to do it. You’ve no idea how much I enjoy puttering round a house,” replied Mr. Jimson. “I never get a chance at home.”
“Why—aren’t there things to do about your house?”