Happily the poor are not slow to
help one another. The present writer has known women who have to
toil hard all day long, sit up night after night with their
neighbours, and watch them with the most tender care. Zachariah
found it so in his case. A fellow-lodger, the mother of half-a-dozen
children, a woman against whom the Colemans had conceived a
prejudice, and whom they had avoided, came forward and modestly asked
Zachariah if she might "look after" Mrs. Coleman while he was away.
He thought for a moment of sundry harsh things which he had said
about her, and then a well-known parable came into his mind about a
certain Samaritan, and he could have hugged her with joy at her
offer.
Mrs. Carter was one of those healthy, somewhat red-faced, gay
creatures whom nothing represses. She was never melancholy with
those who were suffering; not because she had no sympathy for she was
profoundly sympathetic--but because she was subduable. Her pulse was
quick, and her heart so sound that her blood, rich and strong--blood
with never a taint in it--renewed every moment every fibre of her
brain. Her very presence to those who were desponding was a magnetic
charm and she could put to flight legions of hypochondriacal fancies
with a cheery word.
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