"Were you afraid to die?"
"You may be sure I was. Its very unsartin work, is dying."
"Mrs. Flaxman has lent me the lives of some very good people to read. They were not afraid to die, but looked forward to it, some of them, with delight."
"They was the pious sort, that don't make much reckonin' in this life, I allow."
"I have read the lives of both kinds of people—the good, and those who were not pious. The former seemed to be the happiest always."
"They say Mr. Winthrop is a great man—writes fine works and things—but he's not happy. I take more good out of Oaklands and the horses than he does. He seems to sense the flower-gardens a good deal. I often find him there early of a summer's morning when I go to work, with a bit of paper and a pencil writing away for dear life; and he don't seem to mind me any more'n if I was one of the vegetables."
I smiled at Thomas' comparison; for now that he mentioned it, he did seem something like an animated turnip.
"I dare say he has far higher pleasures than you or I ever experience. His thoughts are like a rich kingdom to him."
"He's had some pretty bitter thoughts, I guess. He got crossed in love once, and its sort of made him dislike wimmen folks. Maybe you've noticed it yourself?" Thomas gave me a searching look.
"I did not know he ever cared for a woman in his life. I thought he was above such things," I murmured, too astonished to think of a proper reply.