Sometimes of an evening, before I've lit the gas,
I've a sort of a feeling as if I could almost see the Lord Jesus, and
hear him talking to me. He looks to me something like our eldest brother,
him that died when we were little. Charlotte, thee remembers him? A
white, quiet, patient face, with a smile like the sun shining behind
clouds. Well, whether it's only a dream or no I cannot tell, but there's
a face looks at me, or seems to look at me out of the dusk; and I think
to myself, maybe the Lord Jesus says, 'Old Oliver's lonesome down there
in the dark, and his eyes growing dim. I'll make myself half-plain to
him.' Then he comes and sits here with me for a little while."
"Oh, that's all fancy as comes with you living quite alone," said
Charlotte, sharply.
"Perhaps so! perhaps so!" answered the old man, with a meek sigh; "but I
should be very lonesome without that."
They did not speak again until Charlotte had given a final shake to the
bed in the corner, upon which her bonnet and shawl had been lying. She
put them on neatly and primly; and when she was ready to go she spoke
again in a constrained and mysterious manner.
"Heard nothing of Susan, I suppose?" she said.
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