The News-Herald. [volume] (Hillsboro, Highland Co., Ohio) 1886-1973, 1894-08-02
CHAPTER XXI.

| gone back to her old home at her uncle's
secondhand bookshop. She spent her
time in dusting the books and arranging
them in some kind of order, for old Ter
viah Holme had ceased to interest himself
! much in his belongings and sat in the lit
tie inner room reading as usual, Gibbon' 8
"History of Rome.' Customers might
please themselves about coming. Zerviah
Holme had never cared about amassing
money, and now he cared even less than
before. A frugal breakfast, a frugal din
ner, a box full of snuff and shelf full of
Gibbon were the old mans only require
ments, an undemandihg life and therefore
a loveless one, since the less we ask for the
less we get.
When Malvina, his wife, died, people
said, ''He win miss her,
But he did not seem to miss her. He
took his breakfast, his pinch of snuff, his
Gibbcn, in precisely the same way as before
and in the same quantities.
When Betnardine first fell ill, people
said: HE will be sorry. He is fond of her
in his own queer way"
But he did not seem to be sorry He did
not understand anything about illness.
The thought Of it worried him, so he put
1t from him. He remembered vaguel,
that Bernardine's father had suddenly be-
come i'll, that his powers had all failed
him, and that he fingered on. just wreck
of humanity, and then died That was
20 years ago. Then he thought of Ber-
nardine and said to himself, History re-
peats Itself That was sil.
Unkindp No, for when 1t was told him
that she must go away he looked at her
wonderingly and then went out. 1t was
very rarely that he went out. He came
back with ESQ.
when that is done, " he told her, II can
find more. T"
When she went away, people said, "He
will be lonely"
But he did not seem to be lonely. They
asked him once, and he said, II always
have Gibbon.
And when she came back they said, HE
will be glad"
ference to him.
He looked at her in his usual sightless
manner and asked her what she intended
to do.
II shall dust the books,'' she said.
"Ah dare say they want it, he re-
marked.
Il shall get little teaching to dc" she
continued And j shall take care of
you"
''Ah," he said vaguely. He did not un-
derstand what she meant. She had never
been very near to him, and he had never
been very near to her. He had taken but
little notice of her comings and goings.
She had either never tried to win his inter-
est or had failed, probably the latter.
Now she was going to take care Of him.
This was the home to which Bernardine
had returned. She came back with many
resolutions to help to make his old age
bright. She looked back now and saw how
little she had given of herself to her aunt
and her uncle. Aunt Malvina was dead,
and Bernardine did not regret her Uncle
Zerviah was here still. She would be ten
der with him and win his affection. She
thought she could not begin better than
by looking after his books. Each one was
busted carefully The dingy old shop was
restored to cleanliness Bernardine became
interested in her task. II will work up
the business" she thought She did not
care in the least about the books; she new
er looked into them except to clean the
but she was thankful to have the occupa-
ton at hand, something to help her over a
difficult time, for the most trying p :
| of an illness is when we are i'll no longer;
| when there is no excuse for being idle |
| listless; when, in fact, we could work if
We would. Then is the moment for us to
begin on anything which presents itself
until we have the courage and the inclil :
tion to go back to our own particular WORK,
that which we have longed to do and
about which we now care nothing.
So Bernariine busted books and some-
times sold them. All the time she thought
of the Disagreeable Man. She missed him
| In her life She had never loved before,
and she loved him. The forlorn figure rose
before her, and her eyes filled with tears.
Sometimes the tears fell on the books and
! spotted them.
| Still, on the whole, she was bright, but
she found things difficult. She had lost
her old enthusiasms, and nothing yet had
taken their place. She went back to the
circle Of her acquaintances and found that
she had slipped away from touch with
them. While she had been i'll they had
been busily at work on matters social and
educational and political. She thought
them hard, the women especially; they
thought her weak. They were disappoint-
ed in her. She was now looking for the
more human qualities in them, and she,
too, was disappointed.
You have changed" they said to her,
"but then, of course, you have been i'll,
haven't your'
With these strong, active people to be Ill
and useless is a reproach, and Bernardine
felt it as such. But she had changed, and
she herself perceived it in many ways. 1t
was not that she was necessarily better,
but that she was different, probably more
human and probably less self confident.
She had lived in a world of books, and she
had burst through that bondage and come
out into wider and freer land.
New sorts of interest came into her life.
What she had lost in strength she had
gained in tenderness. Her very manner
was gentler; her mode of speech was less
assertive. At least this was the criticism
of those who had liked her but little before
her illness.
"She has learned" they said among
themselves. And they We're not scholars.
They knew.
These, two or three of them, drew her
nearer to them. She was alone there with
the old man, and, though better, needed
care. They mothercd her as well as they
could at first timidly, and then with that
sweet despotism which is for US all an easy
! woke to bear They were drawn tn he,