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Updated: June 2, 2025
"What I was thinking of," said Polwarth, "was mainly the experience in life he would gather by having to make his own living; that, behind the counter or the plough, or in the workshop, he would come to know men and their struggles and their thoughts " "Good heavens!" exclaimed Mrs. Ramshorn. "But I must be under some misapprehension!
If you chew it well, I don't doubt you also will find it good. Is that something like what you would have, Mr. Polwarth?" "Precisely," answered the gate-keeper. "But," he added, after a moment's delay, "I should be sorry if you stopped there." "Stopped there!" echoed Wingfold. "The question is whether I can begin there. You have no idea how ignorant I am how little I have read!"
"The wish is easily gratified," he said. "I made a copy of it, partly for security, partly that I might thoroughly enter into my brother's thoughts." "I wonder almost you lend the original then," said Wingfold. "I certainly could not lend the copy to any man I could not trust with the original," answered Polwarth. "But I never lent either before." He was turning over the leaves as he spoke.
The gate-keeper and curate interchanged a pleased look of surprise at the draper's eloquence, but Polwarth instantly took up his answer. "I grant you it would be strange indeed if there were no good reason for it," he said. "Then do you say," asked Wingfold.
The visits of Wingfold to the little people at the gate not only became frequent, but more and more interesting to him, and as his office occasioned few demands on his attention, Polwarth had plenty of time to give to one who sought instruction in those things which were his very passion.
Polwarth did not speak once, feeling that a dying man must be allowed to ease his mind after his own fashion, and take as much time to it as he pleased. Helen and Wingfold both would have told him he must not tire himself, but that Polwarth never did. The dying should not have their utterances checked, or the feeling of not having finished forced upon them.
Though Polwarth read little concerning religion except the New Testament, he could yet have directed Wingfold to several books which might have lent him good aid in his quest after the real likeness of the man he sought; but he greatly desired that on the soul of his friend the dawn should break over the mountains of Judea the light, I mean, flow from the words themselves of the Son of Man.
"I know one to whom the thought would not have been a new one," said Polwarth. "Have you not come upon a passage in my brother's manuscript involving the very idea?" "Not yet. I read very slowly and pick up all the crumbs. I wish we had had the book here. I should have so much liked to hear you read from it again." The gate-keeper rose and went to his cabinet.
"It is an awful thing," said Polwarth, "to think that this feeble individuality of ours, the offspring of God's individuality, should have some power, and even more will than power, to close its door against him, and keep house without him!" "But what sort of a house?" murmured Wingfold.
When Polwarth had thus an opportunity of reading Juliet's countenance, it was not wearing its usual expression: the ferment set at work in her mind by the curate's sermon had intensified the strangeness of it, even to something almost of definement; and it so arrested him that after the ponies had darted away like birds, he stood for a whole minute in the spot and posture in which they had left him.
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