When I stood by my father's
side, the old woman just lifted her head once to cast on me a scowling
look, and then went on again rocking herself.
"Now, my boy," said my father, "tell Mrs. Gregson why you have come
here to-night."
I had to use a dreadful effort to make myself speak. It was like
resisting a dumb spirit and forcing the words from my lips. But I did
not hesitate a moment. In fact, I dared not hesitate, for I felt that
hesitation would be defeat.
"I came, papa----" I began.
"No no, my man," said my father; "you must speak to Mrs. Gregson, not
to me."
Thereupon I had to make a fresh effort. When at this day I see a child
who will not say the words required of him, I feel again just as I
felt then, and think how difficult it is for him to do what he is
told; but oh, how I wish he would do it, that he might be a conqueror
I for I know that if he will not make the effort, it will grow more
and more difficult for him to make any effort. I cannot be too
thankful that I was able to overcome now.
"I came, Mrs. Gregson," I faltered, "to tell you that I am very sorry
I behaved so ill to you."
"Yes, indeed," she returned. "How would you like anyone to come and
serve you so in your grand house? But a poor lone widow woman like me
is nothing to be thought of. Oh no! not at all."
"I am ashamed of myself," I said, almost forcing my confession upon
her.
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