The old woman was recommended as a
laundress by my friend, who had long prized her. I was immediately
struck with the dignity and propriety of her manner. In the depth of
winter she brought herself the heavy baskets through the slippery
streets; and, when I asked her why she did not employ some younger
person to do what was so entirely disproportioned to her strength,
simply said, "she lived alone, and could not afford to hire an
errand-boy." "It was hard for her?" "No, she was fortunate in being
able to get work at her age, when others could do it better. Her
friends were very good to procure it for her." "Had she a comfortable
home?" "Tolerably so,--she should not need one long." "Was that a
thought of joy to her?" "Yes, for she hoped to see again the husband
and children from whom she had long been separated."
Thus much in answer to the questions, but at other times the little
she said was on general topics. It was not from her that I learnt how
the great idea of Duty had held her upright through a life of
incessant toil, sorrow, bereavement; and that not only she had
remained upright, but that her character had been constantly
progressive. Her latest act had been to take home a poor sick girl who
had no home of her own, and could not bear the idea of dying in a
hospital, and maintain and nurse her through the last weeks of her
life.
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