“We twa hae ran about the braes,And pu’d the gowans fine.”More frequently they sang the psalm-tunes they used to sing when both sat in the singing-seats with Frank May and Harry Blake. They seldom parted without Jenny’s reading a chapter of the New Testament in a soft, serious tone. One day Mrs. Gray said: “I have a confession to make, Jenny. I was a little prejudiced against you, and thought I shouldn’t care to renew our acquaintance. Somebody told me you was light-minded, and that you told Miss Crosby the heathen were just as likely to be saved as Christians. But you seem to put your trust in God, Jenny; and it is a great comfort to me to hear you read and sing.”“I have a confession to make, too,” replied Mrs. May. “They told me you was a very stern and bigoted Orthodox; and you know, when we were girls, Hatty, I never took much to folks that were too strict to brew a Saturday, for fear the beer would work a Sunday.”“Ah, we were giddy young things in those days,” replied her friend, with much solemnity in her manner.“Well, Hatty dear, I’m a sort of an old girl now,” replied Mrs. May. “I am disposed tobe merciful toward the short-comings of my fellow-creatures, and I cannot believe our Heavenly Father will be less so. I remember Miss Crosby talked to me about the heathen one day, and I thought she talked hard. I don’t recollect what I said to her; but after I arrived at years of reflection I came to some conclusions different from the views we were brought up in. You know my dear Frank was an invalid many years. He was always in the house, and we read to each other, and talked over what we read. In that way, I got the best part of the education I have after I was married. Among other things he read to me some translations from what the Hindoos believe in as their Bible; and some of the writings of Rammohun Roy; and we both came to the conclusion that some who were called heathens might be nearer to God than many professing Christians. You know, Hatty, that Jesus walked and talked with his disciples, and their hearts were stirred, but they didn’t know him. Now it seems to me that the spirit of Jesus may walk and talk with good pious Hindoos and Mahometans, and may stir their hearts, though they don’t know him.”“You may be right,” rejoined the invalid. “God’s ways are above our ways. It’s a pity friends should be set against one another on account of what they believe, or don’t believe. Pray forme, Jenny, and I will pray foryou.”It was the latter part of October, when Mrs. May carried a garland of bright autumn leaves to pin up opposite her friend’s bed. “It is beautiful,” said the invalid; “but the colors are not so brilliant as those you and I used to gather in Maine. O, how the woods glowed there, at this season! I wish I could see them again.”Mrs. May smiled, and answered, “Perhaps youwill, dear.”Her friend looked in her face, with an earnest, questioning glance; but she only said, “Sing our old favorite tune in bygone days, Jenny.” She seated herself by the bedside and sang:“The Lord my shepherd is,I shall be well supplied;Since he is mine, and I am his,What can I want beside?”Perceiving that the invalid grew drowsy, she continued to hum in a low, lulling tone. When she was fast asleep, she rose up, and, after gazing tenderly upon her, crept softly out of the room. She never looked in those old dim eyes again. The next morning they told her the spirit had departed from its frail tenement.Some clothing and a few keepsakes were transmitted to Mrs. May soon after, in compliance with the expressed wish of her departed friend. Among them was the locket containing a braid of her own youthful hair. It was the very color of little Jenny’s, only the glossy brown was ashade darker. She placed the two lockets side by side, and wiped the moisture from her spectacles as she gazed upon them. Then she wrapped them together, and wrote on them, with a trembling hand, “The hair of Grandmother and her old friend Hatty; for my darling little Jenny.”When Neighbor Harrington came in to examine the articles that had been sent, the old lady said to her: “There is nobody left now to call me Jenny. But here is my preciouslittleJenny.She’ll never forsake her old granny;willshe, darling?” The child snuggled fondly to her side, and stood on tiptoe to kiss the wrinkled face, which was to her the dearest face in the whole world.She never did desert her good old friend. She declined marrying during Mrs. May’s lifetime, and waited upon her tenderly to the last. Robin, who proved a bright scholar, went to the West to teach school, with the view of earning money to buy a farm, where grandmother should be the queen. He wrote her many loving letters, and sent portions of his earnings to her and Sissy; but she departed this life before his earthly paradise was made ready for her. The last tune she sang was St. Martin’s; and the last words she spoke were: “How many blessings I have received! Thank the Lord for all his mercies!”
“We twa hae ran about the braes,And pu’d the gowans fine.”
“We twa hae ran about the braes,And pu’d the gowans fine.”
“We twa hae ran about the braes,And pu’d the gowans fine.”
“We twa hae ran about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine.”
More frequently they sang the psalm-tunes they used to sing when both sat in the singing-seats with Frank May and Harry Blake. They seldom parted without Jenny’s reading a chapter of the New Testament in a soft, serious tone. One day Mrs. Gray said: “I have a confession to make, Jenny. I was a little prejudiced against you, and thought I shouldn’t care to renew our acquaintance. Somebody told me you was light-minded, and that you told Miss Crosby the heathen were just as likely to be saved as Christians. But you seem to put your trust in God, Jenny; and it is a great comfort to me to hear you read and sing.”
“I have a confession to make, too,” replied Mrs. May. “They told me you was a very stern and bigoted Orthodox; and you know, when we were girls, Hatty, I never took much to folks that were too strict to brew a Saturday, for fear the beer would work a Sunday.”
“Ah, we were giddy young things in those days,” replied her friend, with much solemnity in her manner.
“Well, Hatty dear, I’m a sort of an old girl now,” replied Mrs. May. “I am disposed tobe merciful toward the short-comings of my fellow-creatures, and I cannot believe our Heavenly Father will be less so. I remember Miss Crosby talked to me about the heathen one day, and I thought she talked hard. I don’t recollect what I said to her; but after I arrived at years of reflection I came to some conclusions different from the views we were brought up in. You know my dear Frank was an invalid many years. He was always in the house, and we read to each other, and talked over what we read. In that way, I got the best part of the education I have after I was married. Among other things he read to me some translations from what the Hindoos believe in as their Bible; and some of the writings of Rammohun Roy; and we both came to the conclusion that some who were called heathens might be nearer to God than many professing Christians. You know, Hatty, that Jesus walked and talked with his disciples, and their hearts were stirred, but they didn’t know him. Now it seems to me that the spirit of Jesus may walk and talk with good pious Hindoos and Mahometans, and may stir their hearts, though they don’t know him.”
“You may be right,” rejoined the invalid. “God’s ways are above our ways. It’s a pity friends should be set against one another on account of what they believe, or don’t believe. Pray forme, Jenny, and I will pray foryou.”
It was the latter part of October, when Mrs. May carried a garland of bright autumn leaves to pin up opposite her friend’s bed. “It is beautiful,” said the invalid; “but the colors are not so brilliant as those you and I used to gather in Maine. O, how the woods glowed there, at this season! I wish I could see them again.”
Mrs. May smiled, and answered, “Perhaps youwill, dear.”
Her friend looked in her face, with an earnest, questioning glance; but she only said, “Sing our old favorite tune in bygone days, Jenny.” She seated herself by the bedside and sang:
“The Lord my shepherd is,I shall be well supplied;Since he is mine, and I am his,What can I want beside?”
“The Lord my shepherd is,I shall be well supplied;Since he is mine, and I am his,What can I want beside?”
“The Lord my shepherd is,I shall be well supplied;Since he is mine, and I am his,What can I want beside?”
“The Lord my shepherd is,
I shall be well supplied;
Since he is mine, and I am his,
What can I want beside?”
Perceiving that the invalid grew drowsy, she continued to hum in a low, lulling tone. When she was fast asleep, she rose up, and, after gazing tenderly upon her, crept softly out of the room. She never looked in those old dim eyes again. The next morning they told her the spirit had departed from its frail tenement.
Some clothing and a few keepsakes were transmitted to Mrs. May soon after, in compliance with the expressed wish of her departed friend. Among them was the locket containing a braid of her own youthful hair. It was the very color of little Jenny’s, only the glossy brown was ashade darker. She placed the two lockets side by side, and wiped the moisture from her spectacles as she gazed upon them. Then she wrapped them together, and wrote on them, with a trembling hand, “The hair of Grandmother and her old friend Hatty; for my darling little Jenny.”
When Neighbor Harrington came in to examine the articles that had been sent, the old lady said to her: “There is nobody left now to call me Jenny. But here is my preciouslittleJenny.She’ll never forsake her old granny;willshe, darling?” The child snuggled fondly to her side, and stood on tiptoe to kiss the wrinkled face, which was to her the dearest face in the whole world.
She never did desert her good old friend. She declined marrying during Mrs. May’s lifetime, and waited upon her tenderly to the last. Robin, who proved a bright scholar, went to the West to teach school, with the view of earning money to buy a farm, where grandmother should be the queen. He wrote her many loving letters, and sent portions of his earnings to her and Sissy; but she departed this life before his earthly paradise was made ready for her. The last tune she sang was St. Martin’s; and the last words she spoke were: “How many blessings I have received! Thank the Lord for all his mercies!”