ANNE
DALAND
51
bed, covered with ragged quilts, lay a man. He turned his head feebly, at her entrance, andi looked at her. His face instantly brightened. She thought she had seen the rough, coarse features, seamed with small-pox before, haggard and changed by sickness as they were now, but for the life of her she could not tell when.
"Oh" said the man, “I’m so glad you’ve come at last. Sit down, sit down, if you were an angel I couldn't be gladder to see you!"
Anne looked round, then took the broken chair by the bed:
"I'm glad you know me Mr. Brett," she said, gently; but I don't think I recollect where I have seen you."
"You went to see old Malone once, when I was there, and you read to him out of a Bible such blessed words about the Lord, as how He told ’em about ‘the mansions,’ and not to be afraid, and how he loved ’em; I never could forget them words, never; and, since I’ve been sick here, it seems as I’d give the world and welcome just to hear you read them blessed words again.”
Here a terrible fit of coughing interrupted him. When it was over, Annie told him that she remembered his coming into Mr. Malone’s very well, the first time she went to read to him, and wished she had known of his being sick before.
“Oh! Miss, I’ve thought on you day and night since I’ve been lying here, and didn’t know where to send for you, nor nothing, only that your name was Daland. And there wasn’t nobody that could read to me, only the doctor, as has been a week now to see me, and I hadn’t no courage to ask him, though he’s been very kind.”
Anne was very much touched, and glad that she had come at once. She read to him the fourteenth chapter of John, and the tears came into her eyes, when he told her, that that chapter, which she had read to Mr. Malone that day he had seen her there, was the only one he had heard since he was a child, for he had not been in a church for years.
Anne sat with him nearly an hour, talking with him about the Saviour, “who will in no wise cast out any who come to him.” He listened eagerly, never taking his eyes off her face, and when she went away, entreated her to come again.
She went often after that, every day when it was possible, and did what she could to make him more comfortable while he lived, and she promised Mrs. Tighe, who lived in the room below, that she would pay her well if she would go in often, and attend to his wants, for he had no one to take care of him.
He always smiled when Anne came to see him, and he would say, “The Lord bless you," when she would finish reading to him, as she always did, though sometimes she read but a few verses at a time, because he was so weak.
“Shure he can’t last. much longer, Miss!" said Mrs. Tight: to her, one afternoon, as she passed the door. “The doctor told me so himself, this mornin’, an' ain't it verra kind in him now, to come and see him so often, and make the poor craythur as asy as he can, till he dies; considerin’ too, he knows it‘s niver a bit of pay he’ll get for it?"
Anne thought it was. It was later than usual, one dull afternoon when she went, but she hurried along, and thought she would have time to be at home before dark. She found her invalid brighter than usual, thankful for some grapes she brought him, eager to have her read to him. After she had read much longer than usual, he said to her, “If it wouldn’t be asking too much, wouldn’t you sing to me a little? I recollect how they used to chant and sing hymns in the chapel, when I was a little boy to homo, and it did sound beautiful.”
“Yes, Mr. Brett, I’ll sing a hymn to you, if you promise to shut your eyes and let me sing you to sleep.”
“Bless you!” said he, “I’ll try.”
Anne thought a moment, then began to sing “ Jerusalem, my happy home,” in her low voice. In the middle of it, she thought she heard a creaking on the stairs; but concluding it was one of Mrs. Tighe’s children, sang it all through. Mr. Brett was not asleep, and great tears were dropping through the thin fingers with which he had covered his face. She turned her head toward the door, and there stood a young gentle¬ man, with his hat in his hand, listening. She started, and Mr. Brett looked round.
“Oh! is that you, Dr. Morris?” said he. “Come in; she,” pointing to Anne, “is the angel the Lord sent me when I was sick.”
Anne colored, and could pot help smiling at the odd introduction. The stranger smiled, too, as he bowed quietly to her, and said to his patient,
“I almost thought it must be an angel, myself, at first, when I heard the singing as I came up stairs, Mr. Brett. I didn’t know what to make of it, I was so startled by it. Yon must excuse my listening to you on the stairs,” he said to Anne, “but I could not help it. I hope I have not interrupted you.”
“Oh! no,” replied Anne, “I have stayed too
