“D’ee see it yet, Tommy?” asked the old man, eagerly.
“No, not yet,” replied Tommy, “not—yes—there—!”
“Ah! that’s it, I see it,” cried old John Potter, with a faint gleam of his old enthusiasm. “There it goes, brighter than ever. A blessed light, and much wanted, Tommy, much, much wanted.”
He leaned heavily on his son’s arm and, after gazing for some time, asked to be taken back to his chair opposite old Martha.
“What is it?” inquired Martha, bending her ear towards a pretty little mouth.
“Grandfather has just seen the new Eddystone lighted up for the first time,” replied Nora.
“Ay, ay,” said Martha in a moralising tone, as she turned her eyes towards the fire, “ay, ay, so soon! I always had a settled conviction that that lighthouse would be burnt.”
“It’s not burnt, grannie,” said Nora, smiling, “it’s only lighted up.”
“Well, well, my dear,” returned Martha, with a solemn shake of the head, “there an’t much difference atween lighted-up an’ burnt-up. It’s just as I always said to your father, my dear—to your grandfather I mean—depend upon it, John, I used to say, that light’ouse will either be burnt up or blowed over. Ay, ay, dear me!”
She subsided into silent meditation, and thus, good reader, we shall bid her farewell, merely remarking that she and her honest husband did not die for a considerable time after that. As she grew older and blinder, old Martha became more and more attached to the Bible and the dictionary, as well as to dear good blooming Nora, who assisted her in the perusal of the former, her sweet ringing voice being the only one at last that the old woman could hear. But although it was evident that Martha had changed in many ways, her opinions remained immoveable. She feebly maintained these, and held her “settled convictions” to the last gasp.