On
ordinary occasions, the boys might have been merry at Dirk's expense,
for they saw changes in him; but the memory of his mother's coffin kept
them silent, and let his changed manner have its effect.
That Sunday was full of small events to Dirk; at least they are small
enough when one puts them on paper, though I admit that they looked
large to him. Several people interested themselves in his welfare.
"Poor fellow!" said Mrs. Saunders, "I suppose his mother tried to do for
him. Just as likely as not she had a clean shirt for him of a Sunday
morning."'
You will perceive that Mrs. Saunders, though all her life a resident of
a large city, was not very well-acquainted with the abject poor. In
point of fact, Dirk Colson had had no extra clothing for his mother to
make clean. But Mrs. Saunders, full of the motherly thought, yet finding
no trace of a shirt in the bundle of rags that Dirk had brought with
him, went down one day into the depths of an old trunk, and brought to
light and mended and washed and ironed a shirt that had long been laid
aside.
It lay in its purity on a chair at the foot of Dirk's bed on Sabbath
morning. He lay still and looked at it for a while, then arose and gave
such careful attention to the soap and water as was new to him, and
arrayed himself in the clean linen.
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