Jim of Hellas, or In Durance Vile; The Troubling of Bethesda Pool — John Shaqi
Jim of Hellas, or In Durance Vile; The Troubling of Bethesda PoolRichards, Laura Elizabeth Howe
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Jim of Hellas, or In Durance Vile; The Troubling of Bethesda Pool
Richards, Laura Elizabeth Howe
Love stories; New England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
When she opened the door, however, the lines of her face softened and
her chin went down. A bright-faced girl stood there, with a shawl
wrapped round her, for the day was cold. She was trying to smile, but
there were tears in her brown eyes, and her lip was quivering.
"Miss Pool," she said, "I don't suppose I can come in, can I? I'd like
ever so much to speak to you, if you wouldn't mind!"
Miss Bethesda opened the door wide, and without wasting breath, led the
shivering child in, and closed the door after her with a bang. That bang
carried defiance across the way, and gave Miss Bethesda as much comfort
as if she had let loose a torrent of angry words. There is great comfort
in a door sometimes. Still in silence, she led the girl into the
sitting-room, drew a chair near the stove for her, and motioned her to
sit down. Then resuming her own seat, she took up her knitting again,
and gazing calmly on her visitor, evidently felt that she had done her
part.
"It's Father, Miss Pool!" said the pretty girl, whose name was Nan
Bradford. Miss Pool nodded comprehension, and set her lips more firmly.
"Father, he's going on dreadful!" said Nan. "You know Will Newell has
been--well, he has thought a sight of me, and I of him, these two years
past.
"It came about while I was staying to grandma's, over to Cyrus, and
grandma knew all his folks, and there aint any better folks in the
country, grandma said. And yet--Father--he acts as though Will was one
thief and I was another. He won't let him come to the house, nor he
won't let me write to him, nor he won't do anything--'cept just be ugly!
There! I hadn't ought to say it, I know,--my own father, and just as
good a father as ever a girl has in the wide world, I do believe, till
this come up. But he won't hear of my marrying anybody,--that is the
plain truth, Miss Pool, not if it was a seraph with six wings!
And--and--what am I to do, I should like to know? I come to you, 'cause
you've always been good to me, and I seem to know you better than anyone
else, now grandma's dead. And I wouldn't complain of Father to anyone
else in the village, so I wouldn't!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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