Ann Franklin stooped down and kissed her husband, whispering, ‘I don’t mind a bit about you being a burden, as you call it;’ and after that she opened a Bible and read these words: ‘Then said they unto him, What shall we do, that we may work the works of God? Jesus answered and said unto them, This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him whom he hath sent.’
‘Ay! I see it,’ he said, after a long pause, ‘that’s a work I can begin better here, perhaps, than in the yard at my work. I can work for God that way, lying here on my back as helpless as a baby. And now I come to think of it, Jesus Christ never served mammon anyway, and if I believe in Him I shall try to be like Him. It’s no use praying to God on Sundays and doing contrary all the week, wailing after money and such like.’
‘Sam,’ answered his wife, ‘I’ve not been believing in him as I ought, for I’ve been fretting after that old waistcoat ever so, thinking how useful the money would be now; but if you’ll help me I’ll help you, and we’ll try to believe in Him just the same as if we could see him coming into the room and talking to us.’
‘But that would be seeing, not believing.’
‘So it would,’ she answered, ‘and he said himself, “Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” We must trust in Him without seeing Him.’
But it was a hard trial to trust in God whilst all their possessions were disappearing one after another. Sam was a long while in fully recovering his strength; and when he was fit to go back to the yard they were pretty deeply in debt. Yet never had they been so happy in former days. Their simple faith in the Saviour gave them a peace different from anything they had ever felt before; and Sam, who had now no secret care or pleasure to brood over in his own mind, grew frank and open with his wife. They pinched and denied themselves to get out of debt; and when the next winter came they were again in the comfortable circumstances which had been theirs when Ann sold the valuable old waistcoat.
‘Sam,’ said Ann, a day or two before Christmas-day, ‘Johnny’s been putting threepence a week into the school club. He’s got as much as nine shillings in, and he’s to have twopence a shilling added to it if we buy him clothes with it, but we can have the nine shillings out if we like. Come home in time to go with us to the school to-night.’
‘Ay, ay!’ said Sam, heartily, ‘I’ll go with Johnny to get his little fortune.’
It was quite dark in the evening when the three started off for the school where the weekly pence were paid in. But as they locked their parlour-door and turned into the street, they saw a girl about Johnny’s age, with bare feet and no bonnet on her head, standing on the outer door-sill, shivering and crying, as she looked at the dismal night, with flakes of snow drifting lazily in the air. They all knew her well; she was the little girl belonging to the tenant of the attic two floors above them. Ann had often given fragments of bread and meat to Johnny to take to her, but she had always shrunk from inviting her into their parlour, because she was too dirty and ragged. Now, as the child stood crying and shivering on the door-step, her heart smote her for her want of kindness, and she stopped to speak to her gently.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.