Chapter 13 - Page 2

incidentally. She saw it in dreams more
vivid than life, and as she fell away to slumber at nights her
memory wandered in all its pleasant places. But her heart was
opened to this girl; 'Oh, Bessy, I loved the home we have left so
dearly! I wish you could see it. I cannot tell you half its
beauty. There are great trees standing all about it, with their
branches stretching long andlevel, and making a deep shade of
rest even at noonday. And yet, though every leaf may seem still,
there is a continual rushing sound of movement all around--not
close at hand. Then sometimes the turf is as soft and fine as
velvet; and sometimes quite lush with the perpetual moisture of a
little, hidden, tinkling brook near at hand. And then in other
parts there are billowy ferns--whole stretches of fern; some in
the green shadow; some with long streaks of golden sunlight lying
on them--just like the sea.'

'I have never seen the sea,' murmured Bessy. 'But go on.'

'Then, here and there, there are wide commons, high up as if
above the very tops of the trees--'

'I'm glad of that. I felt smothered like down below. When I have
gone for an out, I've always wanted to get high up and see far
away, and take a deep breath o' fulness in that air. I get
smothered enough in Milton, and I think the sound yo' speak of
among the trees, going on for ever and ever, would send me dazed;
it's that made my head ache so in the mill. Now on these commons
I reckon there is but little noise?'

'No,' said Margaret; 'nothing but here and there a lark high in
the air. Sometimes I used to hear a farmer speaking sharp and
loud to his servants; but it was so far away that it only
reminded me pleasantly that other people were hard at work in
some distant place, while I just sat on the heather and did
nothing.'

'I used to think once that if I could have a day of doing
nothing, to rest me--a day in some quiet place like that yo'
speak on--it would maybe set me up. But now I've had many days o'
idleness, and I'm just as weary o' them as I was o' my work.
Sometimes I'm so tired out I think I cannot enjoy heaven without
a piece of rest first. I'm rather afeard o' going straight there
without getting a good sleep in the grave to set me up.'

'Don't be afraid, Bessy,' said Margaret, laying her hand on the
girl's; 'God can give you more perfect rest than even idleness on
earth, or the dead sleep of the grave can do.'

Bessy moved uneasily; then she said:

'I wish father would not speak as he does. He means well, as I
telled yo' yesterday, and tell yo' again and again. But yo' see,
though I don't believe him a bit by day, yet by night--when I'm
in a fever, half-asleep and half-awake--it comes back upon