grave, and my knees got kind o' weak. 'Where's Jim?' says I.
'Don't ask,' says he. 'Where is he, Sandy?' I screeches; and then,
'Don't say the word, Sandy, don't you say it.' But, Lor' bless ye, sir,
it didn't much matter what he said nor what he didn't, for I knowed all,
an' down I flops on the deck in a dead faint. The mate, he took me home
in a cab, and when I come to there was the supper lying, sir, and the
beer, and the things a-shinin', and all so cosy, an' the child askin'
where her father was, for I told her he'd bring her some things from
Africa. Then, to think of him a-lyin' dead in Bonny river, why, sir, it
nigh broke my heart."

"A sore affliction," the merchant said, shaking his grizzled head.
"A sad visitation. But these things are sent to try us, Mrs. Hudson.
They are warnings to us not to fix our thoughts too much upon the dross
of this world, but to have higher aims and more durable aspirations.
We are poor short-sighted creatures, the best of us, and often mistake
evil for good. What seems so sad to-day may, if taken in a proper
spirit, be looked back upon as a starting-point from which all the good
of your life has come."

"Bless you, sir!" said the widow, still furtively rubbing her eyes with
the corner of her little shawl. "You're a real kind gentleman. It does
me good to hear you talk."

"We have all our burdens and misfortunes," continued the senior partner.
"Some have more, some have less. To-day is your turn, to-morrow it may
be mine. But let us struggle on to the great goal, and the weight of
our burden need never cause us to sink by the wayside. And now I must
wish you a very good morning, Mrs. Hudson. Believe me, you have my
hearty sympathy."