The farmer folded his hands, and the whole family sat
for a moment in rigid silence. Emma was not accustomed to any form of
thanksgiving before meat; but she understood this silent expression,
and sympathized therein.
"Thee looks delicate," said the old man; "what shall I give thee to
eat, Emma?"
"Anything, sir," answered Emma, with habitual politeness, though she
did feel a preference for the milk which came up to the very rim of a
large pitcher upon a corner of the table.
Margaret began to apologize for the coarseness of their meal: but her
father interposed, saying, "It is good enough for well people, and as
good as we generally have; but if thee has anything a little nice for a
poor appetite, bring it to thy friend."
"Now," thought Emma, "Christian politeness bids me put them at ease in
this respect." So she said frankly, "I would rather have a glass of
your nice milk than anything else."
"Thy wants are easily supplied then," replied the good man, as he
filled her tumbler, and laid a slice of bread upon her plate.
Again Emma thought of the "sincere milk of the word," and looking at
the plain old farmer, she wondered if he had not grown to the stature
of a Christian, by means of this simple charity.
"Has thee been long out of health?" asked the farmer.
Emma was not startled by this question, though her mother and sister,
had they been present, would have considered it a rudeness.
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