“You’re right, Reuben,” said Jeff, as he put on his coat, “though I am a good bit changed, no doubt, since I was here last.”
“Then the townsman have beaten the seaman after all,” exclaimed one who was inclined to triumph.
“Not so,” returned Jeff quickly, “for I’m a seaman myself and take sides with the fishermen.”
“Well said; give us your hand, mate,” cried John Golding, one of the latter, holding out his hand, which our hero grasped warmly, for he had known the man in former years.
“You’ve done well in credit o’ the sea.”
“An’ better still,” said little Reuben, “in doing credit to the land by refusin’ to boast.”
Nevertheless, though Jeff Benson did not boast, it is but just to say that he felt considerable satisfaction in his triumph, and rejoiced in the possession of so powerful a frame, as he continued his walk to Miss Millet’s house. It did not occur to him, however, to thank God for his strength of body, because at that time “God was not in all his thoughts.”
Miss Millet was a woman of action and projects. Her whole being was absorbed in one idea—that of doing good; but her means were small, very small, for, besides being exceedingly poor, she was in delicate health and getting old. She subsisted on quite a microscopic annuity; but, instead of trying to increase it, she devoted the whole of her time to labours of love and charity. The labour that suited her health and circumstances best was knitting socks for the poor, because that demanded little thought and set her mind free to form unlimited projects.
The delight which Miss Millet, experienced in meeting with her old friend Jeffrey Benson was displayed in the vivacity of her reception of him and the tremulosity of her little cap.
“It’s just like coming home, auntie—may I still venture to call you so?”