“My dear, I was not worrying. I was only telling Mr. Arthur Channing that there were some things I should regret to leave. My poor old father for one; he has looked to me, naturally, to help him a little bit in his old age, and I would rather, so far as that goes, have been spared to do it. But, neither that nor anything else can worry me now. I am content to leave all to God.”
“Was ever the like heard?” retorted Mrs. Jenkins, “Not worrying! I know. If you were not worrying, you wouldn’t be talking. Isn’t old Jenkins your father, and shan’t I take upon myself to see that he does not want? You know I shall, Jenkins. When do I ever go from my word?”
“My dear, I know you will do what’s right,” returned Jenkins, in his patient meekness: “but the old man will feel it hard, my departing before him. Are you going, sir?”
“I must go,” replied Arthur, taking one of the thin hands. “I will bring Charley in to-morrow.”
Jenkins pressed Arthur’s hand between his. “God bless you, Mr. Arthur,” he fervently said. “May He be your friend for ever! May He render your dying bed happy, as He has rendered mine!” And Arthur turned away—never again to see Jenkins in life.
“Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord when He cometh shall find watching.”
As Jenkins was, that night, when the message came for him.