But if he had thought less about it he would have got on
better. He worked hard, but little fancied how many fewer strokes of
his plane he made in an hour just because he was brooding over his
difficulties, and imagining what would be the consequences if this or
that misfortune were to befall him--of which he himself sought and
secured the shadow beforehand, to darken and hinder the labour which
might prevent its arrival. But he was a good man nevertheless, for his
greatest bugbear was debt. If he could only pay off every penny he owed
in the world, and if only his wife were so far better as to enjoy life a
little, he would, he thought, be perfectly happy. His wife, however, was
tolerably happy, notwithstanding her weak health, and certainly enjoyed
life a good deal--far more at least than her husband was able to
believe.
Mr Macmichael was very kind and attentive to Mrs Spelman; though, as the
carpenter himself said, he hadn't seen the colour of _his_ money for
years. But the Doctor knew that Spelman was a hard-working man, and
would rather have given him a little money than have pressed him for a
penny. He told him one day, when he was lamenting that he couldn't pay
him even _yet_, that he was only too glad to do anything in the least
little bit like what the Saviour did when he was in the world--"a
carpenter like you, Spelman--think of that," added the Doctor.
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