“A hot fomentation would be the best thing for you,” I said again.
“O no; I only want to be left alone. Please don’t speak.”
So I went to my work, and Cherry retired to hers, both with a sigh. Jack took up his station watchfully near the sofa, like a faithful dog.
I did not know what to think. My own children, with the exception of Cress, had known remarkably good health. And even for Cress’ ailments, home-care and tending had commonly been sufficient. We had mercifully known almost nothing of acute illnesses, through my married life. Amid many troubles, that trouble had been spared us. If Maimie now were going to be ill, or were going to prove only delicate in a general way, it would be a serious matter.
It is curious how heavily any new anxiety seems to weigh upon one. I have been often struck with this. Old cares go on year after year, and in a measure we grow accustomed to the bearing of them. I suppose the back becomes fitted to the burden. But a new trouble does not fit at all. It frets and fidgets, and we cannot forget it for a moment.
After all, neither old nor new worries aught so to weigh upon those who truly serve God. For are we not told,—“Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee”? If our burden is truly cast off upon God, then we certainly have not to bear it ourselves as well. And if we may indeed walk with no burden at all to bear, then how light and free our steps might be!
But I am quite sure I did not cast off my burden that day upon Him. If I had done so, it would not have pressed so hardly upon me.
I am writing about everyday anxieties,—just such as hundreds of people are constantly going through. I think it is in these commonplace anxieties that people most signally fail. If any very great sorrow comes, such as the loss of husband or child, then in our helplessness we rush to our God for help, and He bears us on. But the lesser cares and fidgety worries we try to bear ourselves,—and of course that means that we bear them badly.
Just so I failed that day. Things looked dark and sad, as I sat over my mending. I began to wonder if anybody ever had such troubles as I had. I could not see how in the world we were to meet the expenses of the coming half-year. It would have been difficult enough in any case. And now here was Maimie, not only thrust upon us for support, but also threatened with illness, perhaps severe illness. What should we do? What could we do?
From where I sat, I could see the pale face with its pretty outline, and the brows drawn into a fixed frown of pain. Maimie’s flaxen hair was tossed back in disorder, and the white lips stirred with a quick panting motion. I could see the slender hands clasped together, as if in a struggle for self-command.