“Ah,” said an old man, leaning on his staff, and gazing at the bells, “how I wish the Masther could a’ heard ye! Well, p’r’aps he does hear the bonny bells a-praising God. God bless thee, dear Masther, and have thee forever in his holy keeping!” and raising his hat reverently from his head, the old man stood with the white hair streaming back upon his shoulders, leaving unshaded his upturned countenance, where were visible the traces of many a conflict and of many a hard-earned victory; the traces only, for time and living faith had smoothed the deeper marks. As in Nature this morning you saw there had been storm and fierce strife; but now all was at peace. The clear blue eye of the aged man shone with a brighter light than youth alone can give. It was the undying light of immortality; for, old and poor and ignorant as he was, to worldly eyes, his soul had attained a noble stature; and as he stood there with uncovered head, in the June sunshine, there was a majesty about him which no mere earthly rank can impart. You saw before you a child of the Great Father; you felt that he communed in spirit with his God, as with a dear and loving parent; that the Most High was very nigh unto him. And yet this man dwelt amongst the paupers of a country almshouse, and men called him insane! But he was “harmless,” they said; so he was allowed to come and go about the neighborhood, as he pleased, and no one feared him.
The little children, as they passed to Sunday School this morning, stepped more lightly, lest they should disturb him; for he was a favorite with the “little people,” as he called them.
When beyond his hearing, they whispered to one another, “I don’t believe Uncle Tommy is crazy, do you? I never want to plague him; he’s so kind.”
“He isn’t a mite like laughing Davy,” said another; “for Davy is real mischievous sometimes, and Uncle Tommy isn’t a bit; what do you s’pose folks call him crazy for?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” whispered a third, “for he knows ever so much. I guess it’s ’cause he seems as he does now; and nobody else ever does, do they? That’s what folks laugh at.”
“Well, it’s too bad,” exclaimed a rosy little girl of nine or ten summers. “I mean to go speak to him. That’ll wake him up. He’s always so good to us, I hate to have folks look queer at him, and make fun of his ways.”
“Why, Nelly, he don’t care for the laughing.”
“No matter; I do,” stoutly maintained the child; and going up to the old man, she softly pulled his clean, patched sleeve, and said, “Uncle Tommy, if you please, do look here!”
He did not seem to hear her for a little while; then passing his hand across his forehead, as if rousing himself, he turned, with a pleasant, cheering manner, to the children, who had gathered around him: “Ah! little Nelly, is it you? and all my little people? why you’re out early this good morning. May the blessing of Our Father shine through your young hearts, making beautiful your lives, as the sunshine makes beautiful your fresh young faces!”
“Uncle Tommy,” said John Anton, “what makes you love the sun so like everything?”