“Yes, mother; but I expected to write back, and tell you all about it.”
“Tom,” returned the mother, tenderly, “you asked me, a little while ago, why it was that God let you get hurt that morning when you were trying to kill the hens for the family, while those bad boys go uninjured. I believe God’s ways were right in this. Why, my dear child, you are better to me, and more necessary to me, at present, than many prairie hens; and you might have harmed yourself more by going from home than you were by the powder. You meant it well, Tom; but you reasoned about going away, just as you reasoned about God’s dealings with you, like a child. Tom, you are necessary now to my comfort, and perhaps my life. I am not 45 over strong, and any great trouble might be too much for me. I am afraid nights now, but I feel safer when you are here. And you help me a great deal about house, and in the care of the children. Your father is away so much I have to depend on you. And what if, when you are away, the cabin should take fire,–and you know our stove is none of the tightest,–or if we should have trouble with the savages? And who would get the wood up for us during the cold winter that is coming? God took too good care of us, Tom, to let you forsake us that morning. Besides, Tom, you wouldn’t have succeeded.”
“Why not?” asked Tom, faintly.
“You hadn’t decent clothes to go in, nor any recommendations. Your life had been very different from that you proposed to enter upon, and you hadn’t a cent of money to help you on your way. The chances were, that you would have suffered, and, instead of helping us, as you do now, you would have been a source of sorrow, anxiety, and expense to us. Is it not so?” Tom saw that his mother understood the case; but his heart sank as his air-castle fell, and he wept anew. “But do not misunderstand me, Tom, as you did God’s dealings with you. What I say brings to you a great disappointment. It seems almost cruel in me thus to cut off your hopes of being something better in the world. 46 Tom, it does not follow, because you were going too soon, and God permitted an accident to stop you, that the time may never come for you to realize your hopes so far as they are right. You say you wish to be useful. You are useful now, very useful. Be contented to help at home for the present, and God will, I doubt not, open something better for you in his own good time.” And, kissing him, she lay down upon her bed for a short nap before the day should break.
CHAPTER IV.
A BRUSH WITH INDIANS.–A BLACK HEART.
“Hello! Let me in, I say. Are you all dead?” and a strong hand shook the door.
Mrs. Jones rubbed her eyes, for she had overslept herself; and as the children depended on her to awaken them in the morning, they were sleeping too. Hastening to the door, she undid the fastening, and her husband entered.