Sarepta Towne had her brother’s eyes, but her hair was brighter, with not one silver thread among its short curls; her fair, fresh face was certainly ten years younger than his. In summer her wrappers were of white; in winter she kept herself a bird in gay plumage; always the singing-bird, in white or crimson. When Philip Towne said “My sister,” his voice and eyes said “My saint.”
Once, after a silence, Tessa asked about her “Shut-ins.” “How did it come into your heart at first?”
“It is a long story; first tell me what your heart has been about. It has been painting your eyes darker and darker.”
“It is a very foolish heart then; it was only repeating something that I learned once and did not then understand. I do not know that I can say it correctly, but it is like this:
“‘God’s generous in giving, say I,
And the thing which he gives, I deny
That He ever can take back again.
He gives what He gives: be content.
He resumes nothing given; be sure.
God lend? where the usurers lent
In His temple, indignant He went
And scourged away all those impure.
He lends not, but gives to the end,
As He loves to the end. If it seem
That He draws back a gift, comprehend
’Tis to add to it rather, amend
And finish it up to your dream.’”
“Well?” said Miss Sarepta.
“Once,—a long time ago, it seems now,—He gave me something; it was love for somebody; and then He took it—or I let it go, because it was too much trouble to keep it; I did not like His gift, it hurt too much; I was glad to let it go, and yet I missed it so; I was not worthy such a perfect gift as a love that could be hurt in loving; I could love as I loved all beauty and goodness and truth, but when I found that love must hold on and endure, must hope and believe, must suffer shame and loss, I gave it up. God was generous in giving; He gave me all I could receive, and when He would have given me more, I shrank away from His giving and said, ‘It hurts too much. I am too proud to take love or give love if I must be made humble first. I wanted to give like a queen, not stooping from my full height, and I wanted to give to a king: instead, I was asked to give—just like any common mortal to another common mortal, and that after we had misinterpreted and misunderstood each other, and I had written hard things of him all over my heart, and what he had thought me, nobody knows but himself! And now I think, if I will, that I may have the love again finished up to my dream; finished above any thing that I knew how to ask or think, and it is altogether too good and perfect a gift for me; so good that I can not keep it, I must needs give it away.”
Tessa had told her story with quickened breath, not once lifting the eyes that were growing darker and darker.
Miss Sarepta’s “thank you” held all the appreciation that Tessa wished.
“And now,” after another silence, for these two loved silences together, “you want to know about my dear Shut-ins. Philip named them from the words, ‘And the Lord shut him in.’ It began one day when I was sitting alone thinking! I am often sitting alone thinking; but this day I was thinking sad thoughts about my useless, idle life, and I had planned my life to be such a busy life. There was nothing that I could do to help along; I had to sit still and be helped; and I shouldn’t wonder if I cried a little. That was five years ago, we were living in the city then; in the middle of my bemoanings and my tears, I spied the postman crossing the street. How Philip laughed when I told him that I loved that postman better than any man in all the world! That day he brought me several lovely things: one of them a book from Cousin Ralph, and a letter from Aunt Lydia; that letter is the beginning of my story. She told me about a little invalid that she had found and suggested that I should write one of my charming letters to her. Of course you know that I write charming letters! So I wiped away my naughty tears and wrote the charming letter! In a few days, my hero, the postman, brought the reply. That was my first Shut-in letter. Bring me the album, I will show you Susie.”