they were going through more or less of a struggle now. Moreover, he saw that the farmer was not strong in body or sound in health, and he perceived that the farmer's wife knew it.
The supper ended, a new scene opened for his consideration. With quick and skilful hands the mother and daughter cleared the table, carrying the things into the kitchen. Rotha brought a Bible and laid it before her father; and mother and daughter resumed their seats. Mr. Carpenter read a chapter, like a man who both knew and loved it; and then, a book being given to the stranger, the other three set up a hymn. There was neither formality nor difficulty; as the one had read, so they all sang, as if they loved it. The voices were not remarkable; what was remarkable, to the guest, was the sweet intonations and the peculiar appropriation with which the song was sung. It was a very common hymn,
"Jesus, I love thy charming name,
'Tis music to my ear;" —
And Mr. Southwode noticed a thing which greatly stirred his curiosity. As the singing went on, the lines of those careworn faces relaxed; Mrs. Carpenter's brow lost its shadow, her husband's face wore an incipient smile; it was quite plain that both of them had laid down for the moment the burden which it was also quite plain they carried at other times. What had become of it? and what power had unloosed them from it? Not the abstract love of music, certainly; though the melody which they sang was sweet, and the notes floated out upon the evening air with a kind of grave joy. So as the summer breeze was wafted in. There was a harmony, somehow, between the outer world and this little inner world, for the time, which moved Mr. Southwode strangely, though he could not at all understand it. He made no remark when the service was over, either upon that or upon any other subject. Of course the service ended with a prayer. Not a long one; and as it was in the reading and singing, so in this; every word was simply said and meant. So evidently, that the stranger was singularly impressed with the reality of the whole thing, as contradistinguished from all formal or merely duty work, and as being a matter of enjoyment to those engaged in it.
He had several occasions for renewing his observations; for Mr. Southwode's condition of weakness detained him yet several days at the farm-house. He established for himself during this interval the character he had gained of a silent man; however, one afternoon he broke through his habit and spoke. It was the day before he intended to continue his journey. Rotha had gone to the field with her father, to have some fun in the hay; Mr. Southwode and Mrs. Carpenter sat together in the wide farmhouse hall. The day being very warm, they had come to the coolest place they could find. Mrs. Carpenter was busy with mending clothes; her guest for some time sat idly watching her; admiring, as he had done often already, the calm, sweet strength of this woman's face. What a beauty she must have been once, he thought; all the lines were finely drawn and delicate; and the soul that looked forth of them was refined by nature and purified by patience. Mr. Southwode had something to say to her this afternoon, and did not know how to begin.
"Your husband seems to have a fine farm here," he remarked.
"It is, I believe," Mrs. Carpenter answered, without lifting her eyes from her darning.
"He took me over some of his ground this morning. He knows what to do with it, too. It is in good order."
"It would be in good order, if my husband had his full strength."
"Yes. I am sorry to see he has not."
"Did he say anything to you about it?" the wife enquired presently, with a smothered apprehensiveness which touched her companion. He answered however indifferently in the negative.
"I don't like his cough, though," he went on after a little interval.
"Have you had advice for him?"
There was a startled look of pain in the eyes which again met him, and the lips closed upon one another a little more firmly. They always had a firm though soft set, and the corners of the mouth told of long and patient endurance. Now the face told of another stab of pain, met and borne.
"He would not call in anybody," she said faintly.
That was not what Mr. Southwode had meant to talk about, though closely connected with the subject of his thoughts. He would try again.
"I owe you a great debt of gratitude, Mrs. Carpenter," he said after a long enough pause had ensued, and beginning on another side. "I presume you have saved my life."
"I am very glad we have been able to do anything," she said quietly.
"There is no need of thanks."
"But I must speak them, or I should not deserve to live. It astonishes me, how you should be so kind to an entire stranger."
"That's why you needed it," she said with a pleasant smile.
"Yes, yes, my need is one thing; that was plain enough; but if everybody took care of other people's needs – Why, you have done everything for me, night and day, Mrs. Carpenter. You have not spared yourself in the least; and I have given a deal of trouble."
"I did not think it trouble," she said in the same way. "There is no need to say anything about it."
"Excuse me; I must say something, or earn my own contempt. But what made you do all that for a person who was nothing to you? I do not understand that sort of thing, in such a degree."
"Perhaps you do not put it the right way," she returned. "Anybody who is in trouble is something to me."
"What, pray?" said he quickly.
"My neighbour," – she said with that slight, pleasant smile again. "Don't you know the gospel rule is, to do to others what you would wish them to do to you?"
"I never saw anybody before who observed that rule."
"Didn't you? I am sorry for that. It is a pleasant rule to follow."
"Pleasant!" her guest echoed. "Excuse me; you cannot mean that?"
"I mean it, yes, certainly. And there is another thing, Mr. Southwode; I like to do whatever my Master gives me to do; and he gave you to me to take care of."
"Did he?"
"I think so."
"You did it," said the stranger slowly. "Mrs. Carpenter, I am under very great obligations to you."
"You are very welcome," she said simply.
"You have done more for me than you know. I never saw what religion can be – what religion is – until I saw it in your house."
She was silent now, and he was silent also, for some minutes; not knowing exactly how to go on. He felt instinctively that he must not offer money here. The people were poor unquestionably; at the same time they did not belong to the class that can take that sort of pay for service. He never thought of offering it. They were quite his equals.
"Mr. Carpenter was so good as to tell me something of his affairs as we walked this morning," he began again. "I am sorry to hear that his land is heavily encumbered."
"Yes!" Mrs. Carpenter said with a sigh, and a shadow crossing her face.
"That sort of thing cannot be helped sometimes, but it is a bother, and it leads to more bother. Well! I should like to be looked upon as a friend, by you and your husband; but I shall be a friend a good way off. Mrs. Carpenter, do not be offended at my plain speaking; – I would say, that if ever you find yourself in difficulties and need a friend's help, I would like you to remember me, and deliver that letter according
