I pictured the joy of it, too, when Sam or Daniel struck
rat-tat and clicked open the latch, or maybe one o' the gals pricked
up an ear at the sound of their boots on the cobbles. I 'most hoped
the lads hadn't been thoughtful enough to send on a telegram.
My mind ran on all this, sir; and then for a moment it ran back to
myself, sittin' there cosy and snug after many perils, many joys;
past middle-age, yet hale and strong, wi' the hand o' the Lord
protectin' me. 'The Lord is my shepherd; therefore can I lack
nothing. He shall feed me in a green pasture, and lead me forth
beside the waters of comfort. He shall convert my soul . . .'
"I don't know how it happened, sir, but of a sudden a well o' warmth
ran through me and all over me, just like a spring burstin'. 'Waters
o' Comfort?' Ay, maybe . . . maybe. Funny things happen on
Christmas Eve, they say. My old mother believed to her last day that
every Christmas Eve at midnight the cattle in their challs went down
on their knees, throughout the land . . .
"But the feelin', if you understand me, wasn't Christmas-like at all.
It had started with green pastures: and green pastures ran in my
head, with brooks, and birds singin' away up aloft and bees hummin'
all 'round, and the sunshine o' the Lord warmin' everything and
warmin' my heart .
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