"
It was good for her when Mary Ellen came, vigorous, fresh, beautiful,
like the early morning. She liked to have her in the room, to watch her
face, to braid her long brown hair, and dress it with flowers, or
pearls, or strings of beads,--to clasp her hands about the pretty white
throat, as if she were only a pigeon, or a little lamb, brought in for
her to play with.
She was pleased, too, about David. "He is so good," she said to me one
day. "I always knew he had love and gentleness in his heart, and now an
angel has come to roll away the stone."
I thought a great deal of my privilege of going into her room, the same
as the rest. After the perplexing, and often low, grovelling duties of
my profession, it was like sitting at the gate of heaven.
I used to love to come home, at the close of a long summer's day, and
find the family assembled there. I felt the _rest_ of the hour so much
more, sitting among people who had been hard at work all day.
The windows would be set wide open, that not a breath of out-door air
might he lost. And with the air would seem to come in the deep peace,
the solemn Hush of a country-twilight.
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