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| + | jordan shoes the door, and the shutters were unfastened just before the preacher came, and the horrible chapel smell and chapel damp hung about the place during the whole service. When there was a funeral of any one belonging to the congregation the Abchurch minister had to conduct it, and it was necessarily on Sunday, to his great annoyance. Nobody could be buried on any other day, because work could not be intermitted; no labourer could stay at home when wife or child was dying; he would have lost his wages, and perhaps his occupation. He thought himself lucky if they died in the night.<br>The chapel was "supplied," as it was called, by an Abchurch deacon or Sunday-school teacher, who came over, prayed, preached, gave out hymns, and went away. That was nearly all that Cross Lanes knew of the "parent cause." The supplies were constantly being changed, and if it was very bad weather they stayed at home. On very rare occasions the Abchurch minister appeared on Sunday evenings in summer, but that was only when he wanted rest, and could deliver the Abchurch sermon of the morning,cheap louis vuitton, and could obtain a substitute at home.<br>Crowhursts had been buried at Cross Lanes ever since it existed, but the present Crowhursts knew nothing of their ancestors beyond the generation immediately preceding. What was there to remember, or if there was anything worth remembering, why should they remember it? Life was blank, blind,replica louis vuitton, dull as the brown clay in the sodden fields in November; nevertheless, the Light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world shone into the Crowhurst cottage--that Light greater than all lights which can be lit by priest or philosopher, as the sun is greater than all our oil-lamps, gas, and candles. When Phoebe first had congestion of the lungs, not a single note of murmuring at the trouble caused escaped a soul in the household. The mother sat up with her at night, and a poor woman half a mile off came in during the day and saw that things went all straight. To be sure, there was Dr. Turnbull. It was a long way out of his rounds, but he knew the Crowhursts well, and, as we have said, he watched over Phoebe as carefully as if she had been the daughter of a duke. Now Phoebe was ill again, but Dr. Turnbull was again there, and although her cough was incessant, the care of father,workingentrepreneurs, mother, brother, and sister was perfect in its tenderness, and their self- forgetfulness was complete. It was not with them as with a man known to the writer of this history. His wife,louis vuitton outlet, whom he professed to love, was dying of consumption. "I do not deny she suffers," he said "but nobody thinks of ME." The sympathy of the agricultural poor with one another is hardly credible to fine people who live in towns. If we could have a record of the devotion of those women who lie forgotten under the turf round country churches throughout England, it would be better worth preserving than nine-tenths of our literature and histories. Surely in some sense they still ARE, and their love cannot have been altogether a thing of no moment to the Power that made them!<br>Catharine had never been to Phoebe's home before. At the Terrace she was smart, attractive, and as particular as her mistress about her clothes. Nobody ever saw Phoebe with untidy shoes or stockings, and even in the morning, before she was supposed to be dressed, her little feet were as neat as if she had nothing to do but to sit in a drawing-room. She was now lying on a stump bedstead with a patchwork coverlet over her, and to protect her from the draughts an old piece of carpet had been nailed on a kind of rough frame and placed between her and the door. Catharine's first emotion when she entered was astonishment and indignation. Therein she showed her ignorance and stupidity. The owner of the cottage did not force the Crowhursts to live in it. It was not he who directed that a girl dying of consumption should lie close to a damp wall in a room eight feet square with no ventilation. He had the cottage, the Crowhursts, presumably, were glad to get it, and he conferred a favour on them.<br>"Oh, Miss Catharine," said Phoebe, "this is kind of you! To think of your coming over from Eastthorpe to see me, and after what happened between me and Mrs. Furze! Miss Catharine, I didn't mean to be rude, but that Orkid Jim is a liar,Catherine+Furze_61, and it's my belief that he's at the bottom of the mischief with Tom. You haven't heard of Tom, I suppose, Miss?"<br>"Yes, he is in London. He is doing very well."<br>"Oh, I am very thankful. I am afraid you will find the room very close, Miss. Don't stay if you are uncomfortable."<br>Catharine replied by taking a chair and sitting by the bedside. There was somewhat in Phoebe's countenance, Catharine knew not what, but it went to her heart, and she bent down and kissed her upon the forehead. They had always been half-friends when Phoebe was at the Terrace. The poor girl's eyes filled with tears, and a smile came over her face like the sunshine following the shadow of a cloud sweeping over the hillside. Mrs. Crowhurst came into the room.<br>"Why, mother, what are you doing here? You ought to be abed. Where is Mrs. Dunsfold?"<br>"Mrs. Dunsfold is laid up with the rheumatics, my dear. But don't you bother; we can manage very well. I will stay with you at <ul> | ||
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