The artless words in which she had
told him of her love for this same Cricket, were once more freshly
spoken; her trembling, earnest manner at the moment, was again
before him; her pleasant voice--O what a voice it was, for making
household music at the fireside of an honest man!--thrilled through
and through his better nature, and awoke it into life and action.
He recoiled from the door, like a man walking in his sleep,
awakened from a frightful dream; and put the gun aside. Clasping
his hands before his face, he then sat down again beside the fire,
and found relief in tears.
The Cricket on the Hearth came out into the room, and stood in
Fairy shape before him.
'"I love it,"' said the Fairy Voice, repeating what he well
remembered, '"for the many times I have heard it, and the many
thoughts its harmless music has given me."'
'She said so!' cried the Carrier. 'True!'
'"This has been a happy home, John; and I love the Cricket for its
sake!"'
'It has been, Heaven knows,' returned the Carrier. 'She made it
happy, always,--until now.
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