“Well, Miss Lucy, I buried him there; he lies by the banks of that great river, and there’s the roaring sea, and miles and miles of dreary land between me and my poor John; and, what’s more, when I die, we shan’t lie near each other; that frets me sadly sometimes; but he told me to come home, and so, Miss, I could not do no other. I thought when I turned my back on the log-hut, where we had passed some such happy days together, and when I passed by the place where he was buried, at the other end of the settlement, I thought my heart must have broke; and, if it had not been for the children, I should have thought it a mercy if it had. “There was some people going to Halifax, and I travelled with them. I fancied myself in trouble when I went that road before, but now I thought how happy I was then, for I was going to see my husband’s face again. But God is very merciful, he never gives us more than we can bear. I bore it all, and I got to Halifax, and I went to my sister-in-law. She was a kind woman, and she was sorry for me, for she knew what it was to be a widow. I took my passage on board a vessel for England, and I and my two children left America. Though my husband’s grave was so far up the country, I felt when I left the land, as if I was more parted from him than ever. But ’twas on board ship that I learned to be thankful to God for what was left, and not to grieve too much for any of his creatures. My little boy sickened and died, and he was not buried, decently buried in the earth, but my poor child was thrown into the sea. I could not get over that for a long time. It did seem so unnatural like. But I learned then never to think myself so low, but what God might afflict me more, and I learned to be grateful for my Betsy. And she has been a blessing to me—a kind and a dutiful girl—and one as will never let her old mother come to want, as she gets in years.” “My poor, dear nurse,” exclaimed Lucy, “I can’t bear to think I should ever have been a naughty pettish child, and have plagued and worried you when I was little, and you with all these heavy afflictions on your mind.” “Lord bless your sweet heart! you never plagued me; and, as for your little vagaries, I believe they made me love you all the better.” CHAPTER III. “Il faut très peu de fond pour la politesse dans les manières: il en faut beaucoup pour celle de l’esprit.” LA BRUYERE. This simple history of such interesting feelings made Lucy reflect a good deal. She looked back on her sisters’ courtships and weddings, and could not persuade herself they had either felt or inspired sentiments half so noble, or so disinterested, as John’s and Milly’s; and she resolved, in her own mind, she would never marry unless she was really in love—very much in love.