There was one pleasant duty which helped to brighten the gloom of the rest. Just before sundown, Essie came to find him, almost skipping on her little crutches.
“Will you come and help me feed the chickens?” she asked, in her sweet song-voice.
Philip ran to her. He did not speak, but she saw that he was glad to come. They both went into the kitchen, and Essie directed him to get a great tin pan, and fill it with rich-looking gold-colored Indian meal. Then she poured hot water into it from a pitcher, while he stirred the meal with a wooden spoon, with all his might and main. Oh, how good it smelt! Phil almost wished he was a chicken.
They went out, and Essie called, “Chick, chick: here, chick, chick.” In a moment there was such a scuttling, and clucking, and running! Up they rushed by dozens; and as Phil threw great spoonfuls of the meal, how they did scratch, and snatch, and give each other sudden sly pecks! It was very funny, Phil thought, and he and Essie laughed merrily; but only funny, I am sure they would say, for chickens. I do not think any one will ever try to teach chickens or pigs to eat with knives and forks, and say, “If you please,” and “Thank you,” for what they get; but you will all agree that neatness and politeness at the table are expected as a matter of course from well-bred children.
And now the sun had set, like a king gone to repose, with his crimson and gold curtains closing round him. In the gorgeous light little Essie stood looking at the west, the red clouds tinging her pale cheeks with a faint blush, and shedding a warm glow over her yellow curling hair.
“Oh, Phil,” she murmured, “how kind God is to make us such a beautiful world. Thank you, dear Father in heaven,” she continued, folding her small hands reverently, and looking upwards; then turning to Philip, “You say your prayers. You love Jesus, don’t you?”
The color rushed into his face, and every nerve in him thrilled, as he looked at the lovely child and heard her words. In a hoarse, broken voice, he answered—
“I haven’t said prayers for a long time.”
“Oh, Phil, how dreadful! when our Saviour loves you so much, and begs you to bring all your troubles to Him. What made you? Did you forget?”
“I don’t know. I suppose so,” said Phil, looking down.