“There has not been a word of the sort;” I answered, wondering how he could be so small. “Mr. Golightly leaves all that for the Methodists. He is a churchman. And not only that, but he is a man of true courage, and real faith in God. If he could only give me a hundredth part of what he has, how different I should be! And he never talks about it, but I know that it is in him. Without a single word, he has made me thoroughly ashamed of the way I go on. Look at him! A poor old man, who can scarcely climb a gate, or lift a chair, and who sees his one delight in this world pining and waning to the grave before him. Yet does he ever moan and groan, and turn his back on his fellow-creatures? Not he. He sets his face to work, with a smile that may be sad, but is at any rate a pleasant one; and he gives all his time to help poor people, who are not half so poor as he is. I call him a man; and I call myself a cur.” “Come, come; that’s all nonsense, Kit. I am sure you have borne your trouble well; though you have been crusty now and then. And you can’t say that I have not made allowance wonderfully for you. And here you are ready to throw me over; because this man, whose duty it is, and who is paid for doing it, sets a finer example than I do! I don’t call that a Christian thing. Let him come and grow fruit, and have to sell it, and if he keeps his temper then, and pays all his hands on a Saturday night, and sets a better example than I do—” I burst out laughing. It was very rude; for my uncle was much in earnest. But I could not help it; and after staring at me, with a vacant countenance, he gave three great puffs of tobacco and smiled as if he was sorry for me. “Well, take him another bunch of grapes,” he said with true magnanimity; “I am glad that the poor maid enjoys them. And they are come down now to fifteen pence.” Thus was I taken, without deserving any such consolation, into a higher life than my own, and a very different tone of thought. The bitterness, and moody rancour, which had been encroaching on me, yielded to a softer vein of interest, and sympathy in sorrows better borne than mine. The lesson of patience was before me, told in silence and learned with love; and it went into me all the deeper, because my pores were open. But in spite of all that, I saw no way to sudden magnanimity. It is not sensible to suppose that any man can forego his ways, and jump to sudden exaltation, just because he comes across people of higher views than his. Women seem to compass often these vast enlargements of the heart; but a man is of less spongy fibre, if he is fit to marry them. It had been admitted by Tabby Tapscott, even in her crossest moments, that I was a “man as any woman could look up to, if she chose.” And the very best of them must not be asked to do that to a man, who is like themselves. And so I continued pretty stiff outside, and resolved to have my rights, which is the only way to get them.