"Why, deary, here she was a-livin' in this poor part, all among the mire an' mud as one may say, half-starved, an' ill-clothed, an' knowing nothin' better,—an' never dreamin' she had a happy home awaitin' her, an' them that loved her elsewhere."
"We loved her," said Hor.
"True for you, boy,—an' much your love could do for her! Weren't she half-starved, an' half-frozen, an' a poor little thin object, wantin' all sorts o' things she couldn't get. 'Happy,' was it, you think her,—aye, maybe she was in her blindness, never knowin' what 'twas to be better off. An' then her brother—a lovin' kind elder brother—" Job smiled as he spoke the words,—"comes an' seeks her out, an' hunts for her and finds her at last. He wants to take her off home, where she'll have all she needs,—food, an' dress, an' play, an' learnin', an' love, an' everything. He loves her, and he's good to her, an' she don't like to go with him. Don't like it a bit. Wants to stay all among the rags, and the dirt, and the starvin'. But he won't leave her. He don't carry her off against her will, but he pleads, an' he begs, an' he wins her in love, and at last she goes. Then as they're agoin', he lifts her up in his arms an' carries her, for Mrs. Forsyth says she see him doing it herself. Ah, it's a lovin' elder brother little Lettie's found. But maybe now it seems hard to leave all she's knowed an' loved, and she don't understand how all she's agoin' to have will more than make up for what she 've lost,—ever so much more. Ah, she don't know that yet, Ailie."
"Yes, gran'father," said Ailie, as Job paused.
"Well, now, deary, ain't that a picture,—a beautiful picture o' somethin' else. Don't we read in God's Word of another Brother—a kind lovin' elder Brother,—who comes seekin' an' searchin' after the poor little lost brothers and sisters, living down among the mire of earth. Then when He finds 'em, it's oftentimes they won't go with Him. No, they'd rather stay where they be, an' they can't leave the things they love, an' they're quite content as they are,—poor starvin' souls. An' then He pleads, an' He begs, an' He commands, an' sometimes they'll go at last. An' when He sees how weak they be, an' how the sharp stones cuts the poor feet, He takes 'em right up, an' carries 'em along on their way. It's all a beautiful picture, what's happened to little Lettie—a beautiful picture o' somethin' better an' greater, an' yet like to it. Ain't it now?
"But all the love an' the care she'll get in her new home, is just nothin' at all, beside what the Lord Himself gives to them He seeks an' finds, when they go along with Him. For all things are ours then,—all things in heaven an' earth."
"Seems to me you'd work most everythin' into a pictur'," said Hor.
"And so I would, boy, sure enough. There's meanin' to be worked out o' most things, if we'd see it. Ain't the whole world a lookin' glass, made for nothin' but to reflect God's love, an' power, an' glory? Ain't a lookin' glass full o' pictures, an' all o' them a-changin' too. There's nothin' in the world that don't picture forth God's love, save sin, and that's the one great blemish over everythin'. See ye fight against sin, boy, an' ye'll be doin' work for God. If ye're not workin' for God, ye're pretty sure workin' for Satan. There's only the choice between them two kinds o' work, an' ye must do one or t'other. There ain't no neutral ground in that war,—leastways those who thinks themselves neutral are always found, sooner or later, to be Satan's spies an' secret workers, and it'll be worst of all for them."
He had spoken with growing energy, but he paused here, and lay silent for a while, looking towards the small window, where a gleam of blue sky and wintry sunshine, seen through a smoky atmosphere, were visible. "Will you have some'at to eat, gran'father?" asked Ailie.
"Thank'ee, deary, I don't seem to want it. The cravin's gone now we've a plenty."