“See how it is, Judith—everything that is young and weak will die in this weather.”
A book lay on the bed beside Jacqueline—Jack Throckmorton had brought it over to her a day or two before. Jacqueline, laboriously—for she was very weak—turned over the pages and showed a paragraph to Judith:
“And the fire is lighted and the hall warmed, and it rains and it snows and it storms without. Then cometh in a sparrow and flieth about the hall. It cometh in at one door and goeth out at another. While it is within, it is not touched with the winter storm. But that is only for a moment, only for the least space.”
Judith thought that Jacqueline, in her simplicity, had taken it literally; but she had not.
“Once, Throckmorton read some in this book to me. He said that meant human life—that little moment. Why can’t people let other people be comfortable in that least space, instead of—of—killing them as—being so unkind to them?” Jacqueline stopped. Her mind was ever working on that deep resentment against her county people. “And Throckmorton, too,” she continued, after a pause, “you know, Judith, how noble he is—and see how they have treated him!”
“My dearest,” answered Judith, “you don’t understand. These people are really kind and tender-hearted; but they move very slowly—and they have queer prejudices—notions—that they will die with, and die for, I think; but don’t think about that—think about getting well, and running about again with Beverley. You ought to see him, trotting around down-stairs, saying: ‘Where is my Jacky? I want my Jacky.’ He was so naughty to-day that Delilah threatened to whip him, and even mother had to take a stand against him. He is getting thoroughly spoiled while I am up here with you.”
Jacqueline smiled slightly, but soon returned to watching the gloomy day without. At twilight she would not have the shutters closed, but lay striving to catch the last fading glimpses of the somber daylight. Judith began to feel an intense longing for Throckmorton to come. Jacqueline, too, who had been so strangely forgetful and neglectful of Throckmorton until lately, had asked a dozen times that day, when it was possible for him to get there, and what if he should miss the boat, and many other questions. About seven o’clock Judith went down to tea, leaving Delilah with Jacqueline.
Delilah, sitting up black and solemn, listened to Jacqueline’s faint and sorrowful talk.
“Doan’ you fret, honey, ’bout dem blackbirds, an’ dem peach-blossoms, an’ dem little lambs out in de cold. De Lord gwi’ teck keer on ’em. He gwi’ meck de sun ter shine, an’ de win’ ter blow; an’ He gwi’ down in de rain an’ de gloomerin’ fur ter fin’ de po’ los’ sheep. He ain’ gwi’ lef ’em out d’yar ter deyselves. He gwi’ tote ’em home outen’ de rain an’ de darkness.”