arcels yourselves when I am gone,"
I suggested, but the widow shook her head.

"Nay, I'd like to see them whilst you're here, miss, if you don't mind.
Jane, love, put the kettle on an' make a cup of tea for the young lady.
I will confess 'at I had fret just a bit 'cos we haven't any picture of
father, except one 'at was took soon after we were wed, and that's over
thirty year sin'; and I can't tell you how glad I shall be to 'ave 'em."

I had done my best, and I will admit that the enlargement pleased _me_,
but I was ill prepared for the effect it produced upon the widow and
the daughter. The girl was in her twenties, and looked matter-of-fact
enough, but the moment she saw it she took the frame in her hands,
pressed her lips to the glass, and cried with a dry sob, "Oh, dad,
dear, I cannot bear it!" and then knelt down on the broad fender and
prepared some toast.

But her mother placed the picture against the big Bible on the high
drawers and gazed steadily at it for a moment or two, after which she
came up to me where I was standing, and throwing her arms around my
neck drew my head on to her shoulder, for she is a tall woman, and
kissed me again and again. But only one or two big tears fell upon my
cheek, and she wiped them away hastily with her apron.

"I can't help it, miss," she said, "you'll not take offence, I'm sure.
But I can't do anything but love you for what you've done for me an'
Jane. You've brought more comfort to this house than I ever thought
the Lord 'ud send us, an' I hope He'll pay you back a hundredfold, for
I cannot."

I wonder why one should feel so warm and virtuous for having done one's
duty. I had put my heart into the work, as I always do--for who would
be a mere mechanic whom God meant for a craftsman?--but the farmer had
paid me the price I asked, and the whole transaction had been conducted
on strict business lines. What right had I to be pleased with the
super-payment of love? But I was.

Over the teacups Mrs. Brown opened her heart to me. Jane had gone away
to the dairy, and I think her mother spoke more freely in her absence,
or perhaps the feeling of strangeness had by that time been dispelled.
I saw it did her good to talk and I rarely interrupted her. She sat
with her cup on her knee, and her eyes fixed, for the most part, upon
the hearth.

"He seemed to suffer terrible towards the end," she said, "but he allus
put a good face on it an' tried to keep it from us. But c