“Why, aunt, I’ve heard say that Mrs. Button is a passionate woman; and they say that Kate swears when Bill Boaster teases her. So I thought you would not choose to call at the house of such a woman.”
“Perhaps it may not be pleasant, Minnie. But the more wretched these poor creatures are, the greater is their need of aid and counsel. Come, let us walk over and see the poor woman; who knows but that we may be as sunbeams to a dark and desolate spirit?”
“As sunbeams, aunt! How can we be sunbeams?” asked Minnie, as she walked along with her aunt towards the cottage.
“Sunbeams are bright, cheerful things, you know, Minnie. They scatter clouds and darkness, clothe nature with beauty, and fill the world with light and joy. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, aunt.”
“Well, then, if we visit this woman, who is in trouble, and who has a sad heart, and if we can lighten her burden, and make her heart glad, we shall do for her what the sunbeams do for the world.”
“O, yes, aunt, I see; and I would try to be a little sunbeam if I knew how. But here is the cottage.”
Minnie’s aunt gave a gentle tap at the door. A gruff voice replied,—
“Come in.”
Pushing the door open, Minnie and her aunt entered the cottage. It had but one room, and that was wretched enough. Many of the windows were broken, and pieces of shingle were stuck over the holes in the glass. In one corner stood a miserable bedstead, with a ragged coverlet partially spread over a dirty bed tick filled with leaves. There was only one chair, and that was a broken rocker, on which the unhappy mistress of the cottage was seated. But there were two or three rough stools, made of pieces of pine slab, standing beside the rickety table. Pointing to these stools, Mrs. Button, without quitting her chair, said to her visitors,—