"If you'll please have a charity for the butcher and baker, and tell me what I shall take in here? for my part."
"O we'll go in and find out,—these good people are never just suited unless they have the ordering of everything. They'll tell us what they want fast enough, but if we guessed at it beforehand, they would maybe find out that those were just the things they did not want. Only my hammer—I'm sure of that."
The "good people" in question, were an old man and his wife, living in one little room and with very little furniture. Very deaf the old man was, and both of them dimsighted, so that the old bible on the shelf was only a thing to look at,—if indeed it had ever been anything more, which some people doubted. This was one of the first things Mr. Linden took hold of after the kind greetings were passed, and he gave it to Faith; telling her that old Mr. Roscom always expected his visitors to read to him, and that if she would do that, he would mend Mrs. Roscom's spinning-wheel—which he saw was ready for him.
Faith threw back her hood and her furs, and took a seat close by the old man; and the first thing he heard was her sweet voice asking him where she should read, or if he liked to hear any part in particular.
"No," he said, "he liked to have it surprise him."
Faith pondered how she should best surprise him, but she had not much time to spare and no chance to ask counsel. So she read as her heart prompted her,—first the fifth chapter of II. Corinthians—with its joyful Christian profession and invitation to others; then she read the account of Jesus' healing the impotent man and bidding him "sin no more"; and then she turned over to the Psalms and gave Mr. Roscom the beautiful 103d psalm of thanksgiving,—which after those other two passages seemed particularly beautiful. This was work that Faith loved, and she read so.
How softly the hammer worked while she read, she might have noticed if her mind had not been full; but though she had no word from that quarter, Mr. Roscom's opinion was clear.
"That's good," he said,—"and strong;—and I'm obleeged to ye."
And then, the wheel being near done, there was a little skilful talk gone into; in the course of which Faith and Mr. Linden learned, that the old couple were "real tired of salt meat, some days"—and that rye bread "warnt thought wholesome by itself"—and that "if their tea should give out they didn't know what they should do!"—and that "times when the old man was a little poorly, nothing on airth would serve him but a roasted potato!" All of which was said just for the pleasure of talking to sympathizing faces,—without the least idea of what was at the door. The blanket was too old a want to be spoken of, but Faith needed only to look at the bed. And then she looked at Mr. Linden, in delighted watch to see what his next move would be; in the intervals of her chat with Mr. Roscom, which was very lively.
Mr. Linden had finished his work, and stood balancing his hammer and listening to the catalogue of wants with a smile both grave and bright.