The consumptive raised his head and
forgot to cough; the corporal slowly stiffened his body to attention;
the commercial traveller folded his hands and stared before him. The
simple tones of the hymn seemed to be giving new life to all these
unfortunates; the light of it was in their faces. But to Peer, watching
his sister as she stood there in the half-light, it seemed as if she
grew to be one with the hymn itself, and that wings to soar were given
her.
When she had finished, she came softly over to his bed, stroked his
forehead with her swollen hand, then glided out and disappeared as
silently as she had come.
For a long time all was silent in the dismal ward, until at last the
dying cobbler murmured: "I thank Thee. I knew--I knew Thou wert not far
away."
When Peer left the hospital, the doctor said he had better not begin
work again at once; he should take a holiday in the country and pick up
his strength. "Easy enough for you to talk," thought Peer, and a couple
of days later he was at the workshop again.
But his ways with his sister were more considerate than before, and he
searched about until he had found her a place as seamstress, and saved
her from her heavy floor-scrubbing.
And soon Louise began to notice with delight that her hands were much
less red and swollen than they had been; they were actually getting soft
and pretty by degrees.
Next winter she sat at home in the evenings while he read, and made
herself a dress and cloak and trimmed a new hat, so that Peer soon had
quite an elegant young lady to walk out with.
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