but very common man. From her they could not ask help. She had never
sent them any little present, and had been fiercely indignant with
them for adopting Clare.

Neither of them once complained, though Mrs. Person, whose strength
was much spent, could not help weeping sometimes when she was alone
and free to weep. They knew their Lord did not live in luxury, and a
secret gladness nestled in their hearts that they were allowed to
suffer a little with him for the sake of the flock he had given into
their charge.

The children of course had to share in the general gloom, but it did
not trouble them much. For Clare, he was not easily troubled with
anything. Always ready to help, he did not much realize what suffering
was; and he had Mary to look after, which was labour and pleasure,
work and play and pay all in one. His mother was at ease concerning
her child when she knew her in Clare's charge, and was free to attend
to her husband. She often said that if ever any were paid for being
good to themselves, she and her husband were vastly overpaid for
taking such a child from the shuddering arms of the earthquake.

But John Porson's hour was come. He must leave wife and children and
parish, and go to him who had sent him. If any one think it hard he
should so fare in doing his duty, let him be silent till he learn what
the parson himself thought of the matter when he got home. People talk
about death as the gosling might about life before it chips its
egg. Take up their way of lamentation, and we shall find it an
endless injustice to have to get up every morning and go to bed every
night. Mrs. Porson wept, but never thought him or herself
ill-used. And had she been low enough to indulge in self-pity, it