Before two years were
over, he was what people call a flourishing man, and laying by a
little money.
"But," he said to Mary, "I can't go on like this, you know, miss.
I don't want money. It must be meant to do something with, and I
must find out what that something is."
CHAPTER LVI.
A CATASTROPHE.
One winter evening, as soon as his work was over for the day,
Joseph locked the door of his smithy, washed himself well, put on
clean clothes, and, taking his violin, set out for Testbridge:
Mary was expecting him to tea. It was the afternoon of a holiday,
and she had closed early.
Was there ever a happier man than Joseph that night as he strode
along the footpath? A day of invigorating and manly toil behind
him, folded up in the sense of work accomplished; a clear sky
overhead, beginning to breed stars; the pale amber hope of
to-morrow's sunrise low down in the west; a frosty air around him,
challenging to the surface the glow of the forge which his day's
labor had stored in his body; his heart and brain at rest with
his father in heaven; his precious violin under his arm; before
him the welcoming parlor, where two sweet women waited his
coming, one of them the brightest angel, in or out of heaven, to
him; and the prospect of a long evening of torrent-music between
them--who, I repeat, could have been more blessed, heart, and
soul, and body, than Joseph Jasper? His being was like an all-
sided lens concentrating all joys in the one heart of his
consciousness.
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