Hilda looked up with a pleasant smile, meaning to
thank him for the raspberries which he had gathered for her breakfast;
but to her utter astonishment the moment his eyes fell upon her he gave
a violent start and turned very pale; then, muttering something under
his breath, he turned hastily and left the room.
"Oh! what is the matter?" cried Hilda, jumping up from her chair. "What
have I done, Nurse Lucy? I have made the farmer angry, somehow. Is this
his chair? I thought--"
"No, no, honey dear!" said Nurse Lucy soothingly. "Sit ye down; sit ye
down! You have done nothing. I'm right glad of it," she added, with a
tone of sadness in her pleasant voice. "Seeing as 'tis all in God's
wisdom, Jacob must come to see it so; and 'tis no help, but a deal of
hindrance, when folks set aside chairs and the like, and see only them
that's gone sitting in them." Then, seeing Hilda's look of bewilderment,
she added, laying her hand gently on the girl's soft hair: "You see,
dear, we had a daughter of our own this time last year. Our only one she
was, and just about your age,--the light of our eyes, our Faith. She
was a good girl, strong and loving and heartsome, and almost as pretty
as yourself, Hilda dear; but the Father had need of her, so she was
taken from us for a while. It was cruel hard for Jacob; cruel, cruel
hard. He can't seem to see, even now, that it was right, or it wouldn't
have been so. And so I can tell just what he felt, coming in just now,
sudden like, and seeing you sitting in Faith's chair.
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