'What do you do with yourself all through these
long days, Tom?' I asked. 'Nothing,' he replied, moodily. 'Don't you
read sometimes?' I queried. 'Can't read,' was his sullen answer.
'Were you never at school?' I went on. 'No: how can I get to
school?' 'Why don't your mother teach you?' 'Because she can't read
herself,' replied Tom. 'It isn't too late to begin now,' said I,
encouragingly; 'suppose I were to find some one willing to teach
you, what would you say?' The poor lad's face brightened as if the
sunshine had fallen upon it; and he answered, 'I would say that
nothing could please me better.' I promised to find him a teacher;
and, as I promised, the thought of you, friend Croft, came into my
mind. Now, here is something that you can do; a good work in which
you can employ your one talent."
The sick man did not respond warmly to this proposition. He had been
so long a mere recipient of good offices,--had so long felt himself
the object towards which pity and service must tend,--that he had
nearly lost the relish for good deeds. Idle dependence had made him
selfish.
"Give this poor cripple a lesson every day," went on the neighbor,
pressing home the subject, "and talk and read to him.
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