It's a' thy wark; an' there's no good thing in
us. And thou canst turn the hert o' man as the rivers o' water. And
maybe thou hast gi'en him grace to repent already, though I ken
naething aboot it."
CHAPTER XLV.
This had been a sore winter for Thomas, and he had had plenty of
leisure for prayer. For, having gone up on a scaffold one day to see
that the wall he was building was properly protected from the rain, he
slipped his foot on a wet pole, and fell to the ground, whence, being a
heavy man, he was lifted terribly shaken, besides having one of his
legs broken. Not a moan escaped him--a murmur was out of the question.
They carried him home, and the surgeon did his best for him. Nor,
although few people liked him much, was he left unvisited in his
sickness. The members of his own religious community recognized their
obligation to minister to him; and they would have done more, had they
guessed how poor he was. Nobody knew how much he gave away in other
directions; but they judged of his means by the amount he was in the
habit of putting into the plate at the chapel-door every Sunday. There
was never much of the silvery shine to be seen in the heap of copper,
but one of the gleaming sixpences was almost sure to have dropped from
the hand of Thomas Crann.
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