I was surprised that his words should give me such a sinking at the
heart.
"What will become of the blind father and orphaned children if she dies?"
"They will go to the poor farm. I pity them; for that Bill Day, that has
charge, is a tough subject."
"She may not die. Doctors are very often mistaken. They do not know much
more about the secrets of life and death than the rest of us."
"I allow that's true; for a couple of them give me up for death, a good
many years ago; and a pretty fright they give me for nothing."
"Were you afraid to die?"
"You may be sure I was. Its very unsartin work, is dying."
"Mrs. Flaxman has lent me the lives of some very good people to read.
They were not afraid to die, but looked forward to it, some of them, with
delight."
"They was the pious sort, that don't make much reckonin' in this life, I
allow."
"I have read the lives of both kinds of people--the good, and those who
were not pious. The former seemed to be the happiest always."
"They say Mr. Winthrop is a great man--writes fine works and things--but
he's not happy. I take more good out of Oaklands and the horses than he
does. He seems to sense the flower-gardens a good deal. I often find him
there early of a summer's morning when I go to work, with a bit of paper
and a pencil writing away for dear life; and he don't seem to mind me any
more'n if I was one of the vegetables."
I smiled at Thomas' comparison; for now that he mentioned it, he did seem
something like an animated turnip.
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