The homely words, how often read!
How seldom fully known!
"Which father of you, asked for bread,
Would give his son a stone?"
How oft has bitter tear been shed,
And heaved how many a groan,
Because Thou wouldst not give for bread
The thing that was a stone!
How oft the child Thou wouldst have fed,
Thy gift away has thrown!
He prayed, Thou heardst, and gav'st the bread:
He cried, it is a stone!
Lord, if I ask in doubt or dread
Lest I be left to moan—
I am the man who, asked for bread,
Would give his son a stone.
As Dorothy returned from the rectory, where Helen had made her happier than all the money by the kind words she said to her, she stopped at Mr. Jones' shop, and bought of him a bit of loin of mutton.
"Shan't I put it down, miss?" he suggested, seeing her take out her purse.—Helen had just given her the purse: they had had great fun, with both tears and laughter over it.
"I would rather not—thank you very much," she replied with a smile.
He gave her a kind, searching glance, and took the money.
That day Juliet dined with them. When the joint appeared, Amanda, who had been in the kitchen the greater part of the morning, clapped her hands as at sight of an old acquaintance.
"Dere it comes! dere it comes!" she cried.