I looked in his face. A grave, refined expression lent dignity to features already handsome, while there was a serenity one of the Old Masters might have coveted to reproduce on one of their immortal pictured faces.
"Your daughter shall have all the nourishment the doctor orders after this; and I believe she will soon be better. The Lord is more pitiful than we are," I said, gently.
"God will reward you, my dear friend. Pardon me for calling you such; but you have indeed been a friend in adversity."
"I am glad to be a friend of one who is the friend of God. I esteem it both an honor and privilege."
"I pray God you may very soon hold the dearer relation to Himself of child, if you are not that already." He turned his face to me with an eager, expectant expression.
"No, not in the way you speak of. I am no nearer to Him than I was in childhood. It is only of late I realized the need to be reconciled to Him."
"He answers prayer." There was such a ring of joyful faith in his voice I felt convinced there was one praying for me who had a firm hold on God.
I turned to Mrs. Blake, who was busying herself in trying to make a fire.
"Where can we get some coals, or do they burn wood?" I asked.
"They sell the waste at the mill pretty cheap for kindlings, but the coal is far cheapest."