"Neither do I know," answered Mrs. Rush. "I was only thinking what it might be. Perhaps it was pain and sickness; perhaps the loss of friends; perhaps some old, troublesome sin, sorely repented of, long struggled with, but which still returned again and again, to weary and almost discourage her as she toiled along in the road which led to the Father's house. Perhaps it was all of them; but what ever it was, Benito did not pause to ask; he only thought of his Lord's command, 'Bear ye one another's burdens;' and so put his hand to the load, and eased the old dame's pain and weariness. Was it not so?" she asked of her husband.
"I think so," he answered.
"But a little child could not help grown persons to bear their sins, or to cure them," said Bessie; "they must go to Jesus for that."
"Yes, we must go to Jesus; but the very love and help and pity we have from him teach us to show all we can to our fellow-creatures, whether they are young or old. One of the good men whom Jesus left on earth to do his work and preach his word tells us that Christ was 'touched with the feeling of our infirmities, because he was in all points tempted like as we are.' This means that, good and pure and holy as he was, yet he allowed himself to suffer all the trials and struggles and temptations which can come to poor, weak man, so that he might know just what we feel as we pass through them, and just what help we need. Yet, sorely tempted as he was, he never fell into sin, but returned to his Father's heaven pure and stainless as he left it. Since then Christ feels for all the pains and struggles through which we go for his sake, since he can make allowance for all our weakness and failures; and as he is so ready to give us help in our temptations, so much the more ought we who are not only tempted, but too apt, in spite of our best efforts, to fall into sin, to show to others all the kindness and sympathy we may at any time need for ourselves. So may we try to copy our Saviour, 'bearing one another's burdens,' even as he has borne ours, by giving love and pity and sympathy where we can give nothing else. Benito was a very young child, scarcely able to walk on the narrow road without the help of some older and wiser hand, and his weak shoulders could not carry any part of the old dame's load; but he put his baby hands beneath it, and gave her loving smiles and gentle words, and these brought her help and comfort, so that she went on her way, strengthened for the rest of the journey. And, as we know, Benito met his reward as he came to the gates of his Father's house. So much may the youngest do for the oldest; and I think we know of an old dame whose 'burden' our little pilgrims, Maggie and Bessie, might help to bear, if they would."
"I just believe you mean Aunt Patty!" exclaimed Bessie, in such a tone as showed she was not very well pleased with the idea.
"And," said Maggie, with just the least little pout, "I don't believe she is a dame pilgrim, and I don't believe she is in the narrow path, not a bit!"
"There I think you are mistaken, Maggie, for, so far as we can judge, there is reason to think Aunt Patty is walking in the safe and narrow road which leads to the Father's house; and, since she has not been brought to it by paths quite so easy and pleasant as some of us have known, there is all the more reason that we happier travellers should give her a helping hand. It may be very little that we can give; a word, a look, a smile, a kind offer to go for some little trifle that is needed, will often cheer and gladden a heart that is heavy with its secret burden. And if we now and then get a knock, or even a rather hard scratch from those corners of our neighbor's load, which are made up of little faults and odd tempers, we must try not to mind it, but think only of how tired those poor, weary shoulders must be of the weight they carry."
"But, Mrs. Rush," said Maggie, "Aunt Patty's corners scratch very hard, and hurt very much."
"But the corners are not half as sharp as they were once; are they, dear?" asked Mrs. Rush, smiling.
"Well," said Maggie, slowly, as if she were considering, "maybe her temper corner is not so sharp as it used to be, but her meddling corner is very bad,—yes, very bad indeed; and it scratches like everything. Why, you don't know how she meddles, and what things she says, even when she is not a bit mad. She is all the time telling mamma how she had better manage; just as if mamma did not know a great deal better than she does about her own children and her own house, and about everything! And she dismanages Franky herself very much; and she said dear Aunt Bessie deserved to have such a bad sore throat 'cause she would go out riding with Uncle Ruthven, when she told her it was too cold; and she said the colonel"—