“Oh, any work is fit for me, if it is to serve Moggy,” said William, rubbing away at the articles which were placed by his side.
Anna read on in her sweet, low voice. The book contained a true history of one who bore suffering and affliction with patience and perfect resignation to the Divine will for long, long years, till health came back and she enjoyed peace and happiness in this world, and departed full of joy and hope. Moggy, who seemed deeply interested, instantly applied the history to herself.
“That’s me, that’s me,” she muttered. “I have got peace and comfort, and it’s a happiness to have all these loving, dear children round me.” She paused and sighed deeply, as if a recollection of the past had come suddenly on her, for she added, “But ah, who can bring back the dead—those who lie far, far away in their ocean grave? No joy for me here till I know that I am departing to meet them.”
“Dear Moggy,” said Anna, interrupting her gently, and fearing that she might give way to her feelings too much, “you have more than once promised that you would give us some of your past history. We should very much like to hear it, provided you do not dwell too long on the more painful portions.”
Moggy looked up at her with a sad expression in her eyes.
“Ah, sweet Miss Anna, you do not know what you ask,” she answered. “If I were to tell you my history without the sad portions there truly would be little to tell; but I will not therefore deny you. It will do me good, maybe, to know that those I love are acquainted with my griefs, and can pity me, and as it were share them with me.”
“We know that you have had sore troubles, and we pity you for them, and we have all learned to love you because you bear them so patiently,” said Anna; “therefore if it gives you pain do not talk of your past history.”
“Ay, that is kind in you, Miss Anna, to say, but I have the wish now to tell you all; what I have been, and how I came to be as I am,” said Moggy. “Master Willie, ask Master Charles to come in (Charles had returned outside the cottage to botanise), then I’ll tell ye all, yes, all. Often and often I’ve thought of the past, so it does not seem strange to me as it will to you, dear Miss Anna, but ye will not weep for me, for it’s long, long since I wept for myself.”
A shout from William made Anna run to the door, and from thence she saw Charley shaking hands with their brother Frank, and Willie running down the hill towards them. Another person stood by, who must be, she was certain, Tom Holman. Looking into the cottage again, and crying out, “Frank has come! Frank has come!” she also ran down the hill towards her brothers. There were warm greetings, and smiles, and laughter; and then Frank sang out, “Hillo, Tom, come up here. My brothers and sister want to thank you for enabling me to get back and see them; and tell them how you picked me out of the water and saved my life, and have taken such good care of me ever since.”
Tom had, with true politeness, gone some way off out of ear-shot of the brothers and sister when they met. The latter words were addressed to him, and with the activity of a seaman he sprang up the hill towards them. He did not quite come up to the idea Anna had formed of him. Though dressed as a seaman, he was somewhat different to the commonly-received notions of what a British tar is like; still less could he be compared to a refined pirate or dashing rover of romance. He was an ordinary sized, sunburnt, darkish man of middle age, with a somewhat grave expression of countenance. When he spoke, however, a pleasant smile lit up his firm mouth, and his eyes beamed with intelligence. Anna, Charles, and Willie went forward, and putting out their hands one after the other, shook his cordially, and thanked him, in a few simple words, for the manly services he had rendered Frank; each hoping to find means of proving their gratitude in a more substantial way than by words alone. Tom answered them in a pleasant voice, evidently gratified by the way they had treated him.