“Miserable! oh no; that is no word for a Christian! When I think of my deserts, and then of all that is left me, I should think it a sin to be miserable.”
“A sin!” repeated Priscilla, in surprise; “and what have you to make you anything else?”
“Some comforts even of this earth. I have never yet gone one day quite without food; God has till now provided me with daily bread. I have a roof over my head, and some kind friends, and one friend”—here she laid her hand on a Bible—“that casts sunshine over the darkest trial. My hearing and my eyesight are spared to me—how great a blessing is this! Then I have sweet thoughts to cheer me as I lie here in pain. I trust that, through my Saviour, my sins have been forgiven. Is that no cause for happiness? I trust that every hour brings me nearer to a home where there shall be no more sorrow, or crying, or pain. Is that no cause for happiness? I believe that my gracious God is with me even here, to support my courage and keep me from falling. Is that no cause for happiness? Oh, well may I count up my mercies! well may I thank Him who bestowed them all!—the Rock of my strength and my salvation!” Tears filled her eyes as she spoke, but not tears of sorrow: The hope of the righteous shall be gladness.
Priscilla sighed. When she contrasted her lot with that of this poor woman—her peevish discontent, her cold, heartless service, with Bertha’s loving, grateful, happy spirit—she felt abashed and humbled in her own eyes.
“The rain is over,” she said, turning to the door. “I am sure that we are much obliged to you, Bertha; and I shall often think over what you have said.”
Lucy glided to her sister, and whispered a few words to her, at the same time pressing something into her hand. “You speak for me,” was all that could be overheard. Priscilla’s smile was brighter than usual.
“We happen to have been given a little money,” she said, going up to Bertha with Lucy; “we have no real wants ourselves, and we should be glad, very glad, if you would spend it in getting any little comfort for yourself.”
“May the Almighty bless you for your kindness, dear children!” cried Bertha, fervently clasping her hands. “It is He who has sent you here to-day. He knew that I had not a crust left in my cottage—that I had no earthly means of procuring one. He has answered my prayer. I hoped in Him, and He has not disappointed my hope. But I cannot deprive you of both shillings,” she added; “it is too much—”
“Oh no!” exclaimed Priscilla; “we will never touch that money again!”
“Prissy,” said Lucy gaily to her sister, as they hastened along the wet path, not complaining when their shoes were fixed in the mire, and showers of moisture dropped on them from the trees, “I am almost glad now that we were disappointed of our treat; I think that it was a good thing after all.”