But there was not much to be
kept. A low bedstead; a wooden chest; an odd table made of a
piece of board on three legs; a shelf with some kitchen ware;
that was all the furniture. On the odd table there lay a
Bible, that had, I saw, been turned over many a time.
"Then you can read, uncle Darry," I said, pitching on the only
thing that pleased me.
"De good Lord, He give me dat happiness," the man answered
gravely.
"And you love Jesus, Darry," I said, feeling that we had
better come to an understanding as soon as possible. His
answer was an energetic —
"Bress de Lord! Do Miss Daisy love Him, den?"
I would have said yes; I did say yes, I believe; but I did not
know how or why, at this question there seemed a coming
together of gladness and pain which took away my breath. My
head dropped on Darry's little window-sill, and my tears
rushed forth, like the head of water behind a broken mill-dam.
Darry was startled and greatly concerned. He wanted to know if
I was not well — if I would send him for "su'thing" — I could
only shake my head and weep.
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