The following was the conversation concerning the purport of
which Mewks was left to what conjecture was possible to a
serving-man of his stamp.
Mary held out her hand to Jasper, and it disappeared in his. He
held it for a moment with a great but gentle grasp, and, as he
let it go, said:
"I took the liberty of watching for you, miss. I wanted to ask a
favor of you. It seemed to me you would take no offense."
"You might be sure of that," Mary answered. "You have a right to
anything I can do for you."
He fixed his gaze on her for a moment, as if he did not
understand her. "That's where it is," he said: "I've _done_
nothing for your people. It's all very well to go playing and
playing, but that's not doing anything; and, if _he_ had
done nothing, there would ha' been no fiddling. You understand
me, miss, I know: work comes before music, and makes the soul of
it; it's not the music that makes the doing. I'm a poor hand at
saying without my fiddle, miss: you'll excuse me."
Mary's heart was throbbing. She had not heard a word like this--
not since her father went to what people call the "long home"--as
if a home could be too long! What do we want but an endless
home?--only it is not the grave! She felt as if the spirit of her
father had descended on the strange workman, and had sent him to
her. She looked at him with shining eyes, and did not speak.
Pages:
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488