“No, child, no; folks about here are bad enough, but not as bad as that. Levison is poor enough, both in health and pocket, and wrote as you say; but for all that, I say you are a fool for coming.”
“Was it not my duty?” asked Sarah. “Oh, it was sad enough to leave all I love!”
“I dare say it was, dear, I dare say it was,” and the old woman’s face actually lost its repulsiveness, in such a strong expression of pity, that the desolate girl drew closer to her, and clasped her hand. “And more’s the pity you should have left them at all. Duty—it is a fine sounding word; but I don’t know what duty Levison can claim—he has never acted like a father, never done anything for you; how can he expect you should for him?”
“Still he is my father,” repeated Sarah. “He sent for me when he was prosperous; and though I did not come, his kind wish was the same, and proved he did not forget me. Besides, even if he had, God’s plain command is, to honour your father and mother. We can scarcely imagine any case when this command is not to be obeyed; and surely not when a parent is in distress.”
“You have learned fine feelings, my poor child. I hope you will be able to keep them; but I don’t know, I tried to do my duty, God knows, when I was young and hearty, but now poverty and old age have come upon me, and I have left off caring for anybody or anything. It is better to take life as we find it, and hard enough it is.”
“Not if we believe and feel that God is with us, and will lead us in the end to joy and peace,” rejoined Sarah, timidly.
“Why, you cannot be so silly, child, as to believe that God,” her voice deepened into awe, “cares for such miserable worms as we are, and would lead us as you say?”
“We are taught so, and I do believe and feel it,” replied Sarah, earnestly.
“Taught so; where, child, where?” reiterated old Esther eagerly.
“In God’s own book, the Bible,” answered Sarah. The old woman’s countenance fell.