“No, I don’t. I ’spects likely we’ll be quartered with some old auntie or other. I don’t much care. They have jolly times after hours—breakdowns and dances. Hi! it’s gay fun!”
Tom’s heart sank. He looked out of the window and saw the great trees with their tops just lighted with the rising moon, heard the shrill cry of the mocking-bird, and saw the fireflies lighting up the woods with a thousand tiny lamps. Cool the evening air came across his face, with the motion of the car hurrying on through one of the most glorious countries on which the sun shines. Tom saw it all, and loved it for the sake of Him who made it, but his heart was heavy with the grief of parting, the sting of poverty which sent him away from home, and the prospect before him. Very rebellious, very discontented, his thoughts were for a few minutes, until some old auntie going out with the company, and who had learned with the experience of years to leave her burden of care in His hands “who careth for us,” struck up a hymn, and as the voices one by one joined in with her, until the car was full of the melody which floated out upon the evening air among the moss-laden trees, Tom’s head sank and rested upon the seat in front, and the tears came—tears of penitence and joy—as he listened:
“Oh God’s got a plenty for all of his children—
Sit all around God’s table;
For God’s got plenty for all his children—
Sit all around God’s table.”
There was a prayer for help and courage as Tom listened, and after it was finished his head was lifted with new resolve. He was immediately attacked again by the boy at his side.
“You went to see Miss Mason yesterday, did you not?” he demanded.
“Yes,” replied Tom, with a softened remembrance of the words of kindliness and cheer given him by his teacher. “Yes, I did; I went to bid her good-bye. How did you know?”
“Because I went myself, and she told me you were of the company. She said you would help me get along.”