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Updated: May 9, 2025
She never would stand contradiction, argument, hesitation, indifference, laziness nor fatigue. She had never been heard to complain, to regret anything, to envy anyone. She would say: "Everyone has his share," with the conviction of a fatalist. She did not go to church, she had no use for priests, she hardly believed in God, calling all religious things "weeper's wares."
Where is that imperial charge which God committed to thee?".... And the old man hid his face in his hands and wept bitterly. Pambo laid his hand again tenderly on the weeper's shoulder. 'Is there no pride here, my brother? Who art thou, to change the fate of nations and the hearts of emperors, which are in the hand of the King of kings?
He only drew his arm about the weeper's neck, and held her closer to his heart. The troubled waters soon ran clear: there was calmness in their depths. "It is but for a little while, Fanny," said he, in a feeble yet steady voice; "only for a little while." "I know; I feel that here," was replied, as a thin, white hand was laid against the speaker's bosom. "And I could patiently await my time, but"
I wish you could help me!" cried Zoe, dropping upon her knees at Elsie's feet, and hiding her face on her lap, the tears falling fast now, mingled with sobs. "Only tell me what is wrong, dear, and you shall have all the help I can give," Elsie said, smoothing the weeper's fair hair with soft, caressing hand. "Edward is vexed with me," sobbed Zoe.
Alfy's tears really hurt her, for a moment, till Dolly explained, with an arm about the weeper's waist: "I reckon these must be what I've heard of as 'happy tears, dear Lady Gray. Alfy is too pleased to do anything else even to say 'thank you' yet." Queer little Alfy had dropped her head on Dorothy's shoulder and was repeating in a low tone: "A whole horse of my own! Mine, Alfy Babcock's!
She purposely made her voice coldly unsympathetic with a view toward summoning the weeper's pride to her aid. It had the desired effect. The girl rose from the floor and stumbled toward the door, her head still hidden on her arm. With a cry of, "Why, it is Miss Rawle!" Patience sprang forward and caught the girl by the hand. "You poor child! What has happened to you to make you cry so?"
She never would stand contradiction, argument, hesitation, indifference, laziness nor fatigue. She had never been heard to complain, to regret anything, to envy anyone. She would say: "Everyone has his share," with the conviction of a fatalist. She did not go to church, she had no use for priests, she hardly believed in God, calling all religious things "weeper's wares."
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