My Summer with Doctor Singletary | Page 8

sorrow seemed to fall off. She was the
most cheerful and sunny-faced nurse I ever knew; and I always felt sure
that my own efforts would be well seconded when I found her by the
bedside of a patient. Beautiful it was to see this poor young girl, whom
the world still looked upon with scorn and unkindness, cheering the
desponding, and imparting, as it were, her own strong, healthful life to
the weak and faint; supporting upon her bosom, through weary nights,
the heads of those who, in health, would have deemed her touch
pollution; or to hear her singing for the ear of the dying some sweet
hymn of pious hope or resignation, or calling to mind the consolations
of the gospel and the great love of Christ."
"I trust," said I, "that the feelings of the community were softened
towards her."
"You know what human nature is," returned the Doctor, "and with what
hearty satisfaction we abhor and censure sin and folly in others. It is a
luxury which we cannot easily forego, although our own experience
tells us that the consequences of vice and error are evil and bitter
enough without the aggravation of ridicule and reproach from without.
So you need not be surprised to learn that, in poor Julia's case, the
charity of sinners like herself did not keep pace with the mercy and
forgiveness of Him who is infinite in purity. Nevertheless, I will do our
people the justice to say that her blameless and self-sacrificing life was
not without its proper effect upon them."
"What became of Robert Barnet?" I inquired.
"He came back after an absence of several months, and called on me
before he had even seen his father and mother. He did not mention Julia;
but I saw that his errand with me concerned her. I spoke of her
excellent deportment and her useful life, dwelt upon the extenuating
circumstances of her error and of her sincere and hearty repentance.
"'Doctor,' said he, at length, with a hesitating and embarrassed manner,
'what should you think if I should tell you that, after all that has passed,
I have half made up my mind to ask her to become my wife?'

"'I should think better of it if you had wholly made up your mind,' said
I; 'and if you were my own son, I wouldn't ask for you a better wife
than Julia Atkins. Don't hesitate, Robert, on account of what some ill-
natured people may say. Consult your own heart first of all.'
"'I don't care for the talk of all the busybodies in town,' said he; 'but I
wish father and mother could feel as you do about her.'
"'Leave that to me,' said I. 'They are kindhearted and reasonable, and I
dare say will be disposed to make the best of the matter when they find
you are decided in your purpose.'
"I did not see him again; but a few days after I learned from his parents
that he had gone on another voyage. It was now autumn, and the most
sickly season I had ever known in Peewawkin. Ensign Atkins and his
wife both fell sick; and Julia embraced with alacrity this providential
opportunity to return to her father's house and fulfil the duties of a
daughter. Under her careful nursing the Ensign soon got upon his feet;
but his wife, whose constitution was weaker, sunk under the fever. She
died better than she had lived,--penitent and loving, asking forgiveness
of Julia for her neglect and unkindness, and invoking blessings on her
head. Julia had now, for the first time since the death of her mother, a
comfortable home and a father's love and protection. Her sweetness of
temper, patient endurance, and forgetfulness of herself in her labors for
others, gradually overcame the scruples and hard feelings of her
neighbors. They began to question whether, after all, it was meritorious
in them to treat one like her as a sinner beyond forgiveness. Elder
Staples and Deacon Warner were her fast friends. The Deacon's
daughters--the tall, blue-eyed, brown-locked girls you noticed in
meeting the other day--set the example among the young people of
treating her as their equal and companion. The dear good girls! They
reminded me of the maidens of Naxos cheering and comforting the
unhappy Ariadne.
"One mid-winter evening I took Julia with me to a poor sick patient of
mine, who was suffering for lack of attendance. The house where she
lived was in a lonely and desolate place, some two or three miles below
us, on a sandy level, just elevated above the great salt marshes,
stretching far away to the sea. The night set in dark and stormy; a fierce
northeasterly wind swept over the level waste, driving thick
snow-clouds before