What mattered it if her back and her
head and her feet did ache? Mine were left strong and painless--for my
work. What mattered her wakefulness if I slept? What mattered her
weariness if I was rested? What mattered her disappointments if my aims
were accomplished? Nothing!"
The Honorable Jonas Whitermore paused for breath, and I caught mine and
held it. It seemed, for a minute, as if everybody all over the house was
doing the same thing, too, so absolutely still was it, after that one
word--"nothing." They were beginning to understand--a little. I could
tell that. They were beginning to see this big thing that was taking
place right before their eyes. I glanced at the little woman down in
front. The tender glow on her face had grown and deepened and broadened
until her whole little brown-clad self seemed transfigured. My own eyes
dimmed as I looked. Then, suddenly I became aware that the Honorable
Jonas Whitermore was speaking again.
"And not for one year only, nor two, nor ten, has this quintessence of
devotion been mine," he was saying, "but for twice ten and then a score
more--for forty years. For forty years! Did you ever stop to think how
long forty years could be--forty years of striving and straining, of
pinching and economizing, of serving and sacrificing? Forty years of
just loving somebody else better than yourself, and doing this every
day, and every hour of the day for the whole of those long forty years?
It isn't easy to love somebody else
always better than yourself,
you know! It means the giving up of lots of things that
you want.
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