The old farmer ordered the girl out of the room directly, and without the least emotion proceeded to make excuses to Mr. Eden for Susan.

“A young maid’s eyes soon flow over,” etc.

Mr. Eden interrupted him.

“Such tears as these do not scald the heart.  I feel this separation from my dear kind friend as much as she feels it.  But I am more than twice her age and have passed through—­I should feel it bitterly if I thought our friendship and Christian love were to end because our path of duty lies separate.  But no, Susan, still look on me as your adviser, your elder brother, and in some measure your pastor.  I shall write to you and watch over you, though it some distance—­and not so great a distance.  I am always well horsed, and I know you will give me a bed at Grassmere once a quarter.”

“That we will,” cried the farmer, warmly, “and proud and happy to see you cross the threshold, sir.”

“And, Mr. Merton, my new house is large.  I shall be alone in it.  Whenever you and Miss Merton have nothing better to do, pray come and visit me.  I will make you as uncomfortable as you have made me comfortable, but as welcome as you have made me welcome.”

“We will come, sir! we will come some one of these days, and thank you for the honor.”

So Mr. Eden went from Grassmere village and Grassmere farmhouse—­but he left neither as he found them; fifty years hence an old man and woman or two will speak to their grandchildren of the “Sower,” and Susan Merton (if she is on earth then) of “the good Physician.”  She may well do so, for it was no vulgar service he rendered her, no vulgar malady he checked.

Not every good man could have penetrated so quickly a coy woman’s grief, nor, the wound found, have soothed her fever and deadened her smart with a hand as firm as gentle, as gentle as firm.

Such men are human suns!  They brighten and warm wherever they pass.  Fools count them mad, till death wrenches open foolish eyes; they are not often called “my Lord,"* nor sung by poets when they die; but the hearts they heal, and their own are their rich reward on earth—­and their place is high in heaven.

* Sometimes thought.

CHAPTER X.

MR. MEADOWS lived in a house that he had conquered three years ago by lending money on it at fair interest in his own name.  Mr. David Hall, the proprietor, paid neither principal nor interest.  Mr. Meadows expected this contingency, and therefore lent his money.  He threatened to foreclose and sell the house under the hammer; to avoid this Mr. Hall said, “Pay yourself the interest by living rent free in the house till such time as my old aunt dies, drat her, and then I’ll pay your money.  I wish I had never borrowed it.”  Meadows acquiesced with feigned reluctance.  “Well, if I must, I must; but let me have my money as soon as you can—­” (aside) “I will end my days in this house.”