"A churchyard cough?"
"Well, I don't know, sir," said Jenkins. "It _has_ been called that,
before now. I dare say it will be the end of me at last."
"Cool!" remarked Roland. "Cooler than I should be, if I had a cough, or
any plague of the sort, that was likely to be _my_ end. Does it trouble
your mind, Jenkins?"
"No, sir, not exactly. It gives me rather down-hearted thoughts now and
then, till I remember that everything is sure to be ordered for the
best."
"The best! Should you call it for 'the best' if you were to go off?"
demanded Roland, drawing pen-and-ink chimneys upon his blotting-paper,
with clouds of smoke coming out, as he sat lazily at his desk.
"I dare say, sir, if that were to happen, I should be enabled to see
that it was for the best. There's no doubt of it."
"According to that theory, everything that happens must be for the
best. You may as well say that pitching on to your head and half
killing yourself, was for the best. Moonshine, Jenkins!"
"I think even that accident was sent for some wise purpose, sir. I
know, in some respects, it was very palpably for the best. It afforded
me some days of quiet, serious reflection, and it served to show how
considerate everybody was for me."
"And the pain?"
"That was soon over, sir. It made me think of that better place where
there will be no pain. If I am to be called there early, Mr. Roland, it
is well that my thoughts should be led to it.
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