Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
do anything honest she can do,’ answered Diana for me; ‘and you
know, St. John, she has no choice of helpers: she is forced to put up
with such crusty people as you.’ ‘I will be a dressmaker; I will be a
plain-workwoman; I will be a servant, a nurse-girl, if I can be no
better,’ I answered.
‘Right,’ said Mr. St. John, quite coolly. ‘If such is your spirit, I
promise to aid you, in my own time and way.’ He now resumed
the book with which he had been occupied before tea. I soon
withdrew, for I had talked as much, and sat up as long, as my
present strength would permit.
THE more I knew of the inmates of Moor House, the better I liked
them. In a few days I had so far recovered my health that I could
sit up all day, and walk out sometimes. I could join with Diana and
Mary in all their occupations; converse with them as much as they
wished, and aid them when and where they would allow me.
There was a reviving pleasure in this intercourse, of a kind now
tasted by me for the first time-the pleasure arising from perfect
congeniality of tastes, sentiments, and principles.
I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed,
delighted me; what they approved, I reverenced. They loved their
sequestered home. I, too, in the grey, small, antique structure, with
its low roof, its latticed casements, its mouldering walls, its avenue
of aged firs-all grown aslant under the stress of mountain winds;
its garden, dark with yew and holly-and where no flowers but of
the hardiest species would bloom-found a charm both potent and
permanent. They clung to the purple moors behind and around
their dwelling-to the hollow vale into which the pebbly bridle-
path leading from their gate descended, and which wound
between fern-banks first, and then amongst a few of the wildest
little pasture-fields that ever bordered a wilderness of heath, or
gave sustenance to a flock of grey moorland sheep, with their little
mossy-faced lambs:- they clung to this scene, I say, with a perfect
enthusiasm of attachment. I could comprehend the feeling, and
share both its strength and truth. I saw the fascination of the
locality. I felt the consecration of its loneliness: my eye feasted on
the outline of swell and sweep-on the wild colouring
communicated to ridge and dell by moss, by heathbell, by flower-
sprinkled turf, by brilliant bracken, and mellow granite crag.
These details were just to me what they were to them-so many
pure and sweet sources of pleasure. The strong blast and the soft