"She wanders a bit," said the one-eyed granny, touching her forehead significantly; "she's such a one for this Methody talk."
I have noticed that the tone of the workhouse, though perfectly tolerant and liberal, is inclined to scepticism, in spite of the vast preponderance of the Church of England (C. of E.) in the "Creed Book."
"Let her wander, then," retorted another orthodox member; "she ain't got much to comfort her 'ere below--the work'us ain't exactly a paradise. For Gawd's sake leave 'er 'er 'eaven and 'er scarlet geraniums."
"One thing, ma'am, as pleased her was some dirty old lace one of the lidies brought for her one afternoon. She was just as 'appy as most females are with a babby, a-fingering of it and calling it all manner of queer names. There isn't a sight of old lace knocking about 'ere," and her one eye twinkled merrily; "I guess we lidies willed it all away to our h'ancestry afore seeking retirement. Our gowns aren't hexactly trimmed with priceless guipure, though there's some fine 'and embroidery on my h'apern," and she thrust the coarsely darned linen between the delicate fingers.
"Garn!--they're always a-kiddin' of me. Yes, ma'am, I love to feel real lace; I can still tell them all by the touch--Brussels and Chantilly and Honiton and rose-point; it reminds me of the lovely things I used to mend up for the ladies to go to see the Queen in."
They showed me her needlework--handkerchiefs and dusters hemmed with much accuracy, and knitting more even than that of many of us who can see.
As I rose to go she took my finger and laid it upon the cabalistic signs of the "Book."
"Don't you understand it? That's my own text, as I reads when things are worse than general: 'Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.' Yes, there'll be glory for me--glory for me--glory for me."
I heard the shrill, hoarse voice piping out the old revival hymn, very much out of tune, as I passed down the ward.
I had a nasty lump in my throat when I got back to the Board Room, and I can't exactly remember what I said to the Committee. I think I cleared Nurse Smith from any definite charge of cruelty, something after the fashion of the Irish jurymen: "Not guilty, but don't do it again," adding the rider that Mary Grant was blind and deaf, and if she grumbled it was not surprising.