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Updated: June 13, 2025
Flaxman wiped her eyes sympathetically when I repeated the grateful words my gift had evoked, and said with trembling voice: "It just seems as if the Lord sent you there, Medoline." "Do you think the Ruler of this vast universe has leisure or inclination to turn his gaze on such trivialities? No doubt suns and systems are still being sent out completed on their limitless circles.
"They would think on the Mill Road the millennium was dawning if Mr. Winthrop were to step down among them," I said. "Then by all means let us foster the illusion." "I will take the baked meats, Medoline, or a cracker and cheese anything rather than that crowd." "That is ever so kind. I will come home to brew you a cup of tea myself.
Some day I may tell you." "I suppose it is because I am not like other girls of my age," I said with a sigh. "No dear, that is not the reason. I should not have spoken so unguardedly." "I might try to overcome the temptations if I were warned of their nature." "You are a persevering child, Medoline but still only a child in heart." "I am over eighteen, Mrs. Flaxman. I wonder why you and Mr.
Bowen lives his quite as well as he talks it, but he is the nearest perfection of any human being I ever expect to meet." "That is hard on our set, Mrs. Flaxman. Medoline, it seems, has fished out of the slums a veritable saint, and handsome as he is good. If I remember right he is a widower." "Yes, certainly, he is the one she got the suit of clothes for when she was in New York."
"But is it not rash to misjudge the many for the wrong doing of the single individual? It does not prove all are alike." "Have you ever heard anything, Medoline?" She asked anxiously. "Merely a hint, but I have built many a story on that." "You must not trust servants or ignorant folks' gossip. I hope your Mill Road friends do not talk about your guardian." "They scarcely mention his name. Mrs.
Presently he turned, and, coming to the table where I was sitting, stood looking down intently at me. "Medoline, has it ever occurred to you that you are an unusually attractive bit of womanhood?" I drew back almost as if he had struck me a blow. He smiled. "You are as odd as you are fascinating," he said. He went to his writing-desk.
"If we take our miseries to God, He can turn them into blessed evangels," I replied softly. "Where did you learn that secret, Medoline?" "It was Mr. Bowen who taught me. God left him in the darkness, and then gave him songs in the night such grand harmonies, his life became like a thanksgiving Psalm." "I hope you are not going to indulge in cant, Medoline.
"I do not think I shall ever have paternal feelings towards you, Medoline, I am not old enough for that. Tell Mrs. Flaxman, if she speaks that way again, I am not anxious for her to fasten in your heart filial affection for me." "But we may be just as much to each other as if you were my own father?" I pleaded. "Quite as much," he said, with emphasis.
Winthrop, if it were for your good; I do not ask for anything better than to be near you always in time and eternity." "Since how long have you regarded me in this way, Medoline?" "You remember that long night holding my hand, when I was at the worst of the fever? I saw everything clearly then.
They find it so much easier to be Christians they are not bewildered by the pride of life and vanities that pall while they allure, and the perplexity of riches, and other ills the higher born are heir to." "I sincerely hope you will not begin a new crusade, Medoline." "Why, Mr. Winthrop, what do you mean?" I asked, surprised at the sudden turn of the conversation. "What do I mean?
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