Children of clergy -- Fiction; Christian fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
"Very soon they began to ask me after Mrs. Conan; and one day I invited one
of them, who seemed a decent though not very tidy woman, to walk up and see
her; for I was anxious she should have a visitor now and then when I was
out, as she complained a good deal of the loneliness. The woman consented,
and ever after was very kind to her. But my main stay and comfort was an
old woman who then occupied the room opposite to this. She was such a good
creature! Nearly blind, she yet kept her room the very pink of neatness. I
never saw a speck of dust on that chest of drawers, which was hers then,
and which she valued far more than many a rich man values the house of his
ancestors,--not only because it had been her mother's, but because it bore
testimony to the respectability of her family. Her floor and her little
muslin window-curtain, her bed and every thing about her, were as clean as
lady could desire. She objected to move into a better room below, which the
landlord kindly offered her,--for she was a favorite from having been his
tenant a long time and never having given him any trouble in collecting her
rent,--on the ground that there were two windows in it, and therefore too
much light for her bits of furniture. They would, she said, look nothing
in that room. She was very pleased when I asked her to pay a visit to Mrs.
Conan; and as she belonged to a far higher intellectual grade than my
protectress, and as she had a strong practical sense of religion, chiefly
manifested in a willing acceptance of the decrees of Providence, I think
she did us both good. I wish I could draw you a picture of her coming in
at that door, with her all but sightless eyes, the broad borders of her
white cap waving, and her hands stretched out before her; for she was
more apprehensive than if she had been quite blind, because she could see
things without knowing what, or even in what position they were. The most
remarkable thing to me was the calmness with which she looked forward to
her approaching death, although without the expectation which so many
good people seem to have in connection with their departure. I talked to
her about it more than once,--not with any presumption of teaching her,
for I felt she was far before me, but just to find out how she felt and
what she believed. Her answer amounted to this, that she had never known
beforehand what lay round the next corner, or what was going to happen to
her, for if Providence had meant her to know, it could not be by going to
fortune-tellers, as some of the neighbors did; but that she always found
things turn out right and good for her, and she did not doubt she would
find it so when she came to the last turn.
"By degrees I knew everybody in the house, and of course I was ready to
do what I could to help any of them. I had much to lift me into a higher
region of mental comfort than was open to them; for I had music, and Lady
Bernard lent me books.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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