Jane seated herself at a
table, on which were a few books and writing materials. She began to
copy something, using the pen with difficulty, and taking extreme
pains. Occasionally her eyes wandered, and once they rested upon her
grandfather's face for several minutes. But for the cry of a milkman
or a paper-boy in the street, no sound broke the quietness of the
summer morning. The blessed sunshine, so rarely shed from a London
sky--sunshine, the source of all solace to mind and body--
reigned gloriously in heaven and on earth.
When more than an hour had passed, Snowdon came and sat down beside
the girl. Without speaking she showed him what she had written. He
nodded approvingly.
'Shall I say it to you, grandfather?'
'Yes.'
Jane collected her thoughts, then began to repeat the parable of the
Samaritan. From the first words it was evident that she frequently
thus delivered passages committed to memory; evident, too, that
instruction and a natural good sense guarded her against the
gabbling method of recitation. When she had finished Snowdon spoke
with her for awhile on the subject of the story. In all he said
there was the earnestness of deep personal feeling.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211