Her sympathy drew
them to her as if they were her own, and the little colony of
Norwegians was always especially dear to her. "How pathetic," she
says, "the gathering of women on the headlands, when out of the sky
swept the squall that sent the small boat staggering before it, and
blinded the eyes, already drowned in tears, with sudden rain that hid
sky and sea and boats from their eager gaze!"
What she was, what her sympathy was, to those people, no one can ever
quite express. The deep devotion of their service to her brothers and
to herself, through the long solitude of winter and the storm of
summer visitors, alone could testify. Such service cannot be bought:
it is the devotion born of affection and gratitude and admiration.
Speaking of one of the young women who grew up under her eye, she
often said: "What could I do in this world without Mine Burntssen? I
hope she will be with me when I die." And there indeed, at the last,
was Mine, to receive the latest word and to perform the few sad
offices.
To tell of the services Mrs. Thaxter rendered to some of the more
helpless people about her, in the dark season, when no assistance from
the mainland could be hoped for, would make a long and noble story in
itself. Her good sense made her an excellent doctor; the remedies she
understood she was always on hand to apply at the right moment.
Sometimes she was unexpectedly called to assist in the birth of a
child, when knowledge and strength she was hardly aware of seemed to
be suddenly developed.
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