It was the middle of September then, my servants said, and as within
a week after taking the fever I was very ill, a great many people
came out to inquire for me. Some of these, walking around the
garden, declared it was a pity for such fruit and flowers to be
wasted, and so helped themselves freely every time. The old doctor,
who always fears for my health at this season, stopped by nearly
every day to repeat how he had warned me, and always walked back to
his gig in a round-about way, which required him to pass a favorite
tree; and once he was so indignant to find several other persons
gathered there, and mournfully enjoying the last of the fruit as
they predicted I would never get well, that he came back to the
house--with two pears in each duster pocket and one in his mouth--and
told Jack it was an outrage. The preacher, likewise, who appears
in the spring-time, one afternoon knocked reproachfully at the
front door and inquired whether I was in a condition to be reasoned
with. In his hand he carried a nice little work-basket, which may
have been brought along to catch his prayers; but he took it home
piled with grapes.
And then they told me, also, how many a good and kind soul came
with hushed footsteps and low inquires, turning away sometimes
with brightened faces, sometimes with rising tears--often people
to whom I had done no kindness or did not even know; how others,
whom I had quarrelled with or did not like, forgot the poor puny
quarrels and the dislike, and begged to do for me whatever they
could; how friends went softly around the garden, caring for a
flower, putting a prop under a too heavily-laden limb, or climbing
on step-ladders to tie sacks around the finest bunches of grapes,
with the hope that I might be well in time to eat them--touching
nothing themselves, having no heart to eat; how dear, dear ones
would never leave me day or night; how a good doctor wore himself
out with watching, and a good pastor sent up for me his spotless
prayers; and at last, when I began to mend, how from far and near
there poured in flowers and jellies and wines, until, had I been
the multitude by the Sea of Galilee, there must have been baskets
to spare. God bless them! God bless them all! And God forgive
us all the blindness, the weakness, and the cruelty with which we
judge each other when we are in health.
This and more my beloved old negroes told me a few hours ago, as
I sat in deep comfort and bright health again before my blazing
hickories; and one moment we were in laughter and the next in
tears--as is the strange life we live. This is a gay household now,
and Dilsy cannot face me without a fleshly earthquake of laughter
that I have become such a high-tempered tiger about punctual meals.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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