“Is that all you have of the Bible?” asked Bessie.
“Dat’s all, Missy, but dey’s a deal ob preciousness in it: dey’s words what bears readin’ ober and ober. To be sure, dey’s times when I gets longin’ for more; but I jes says, ‘Come now, old Joe, don’t be so ongrateful. Ef de Lord had meant you to hab more He would ha’ sent it you;’ and I tank Him for not lettin’ dis be burn up an’ for lettin’ me fin’ it ’fore it was blowed away by de wind.”
“Where did you find it, and how did it come so burnt and torn?” asked Bessie.
“Foun’ it ober by Miss Sims’ house. ’Spect she use it for her bakin’, and when de bread done she trow it out, an’ de Lord He let old Joe fin’ it. Bress His holy name.”
“Do you mean she baked her bread on the leaves of the Bible?” asked Bessie, exceedingly shocked.
“’Pears like it, Missy. I ’spect she don’t know its wort’, poor woman!” said Joe, with a pitying thought for the owner of the pretty, comfortable cottage, who was so much poorer than himself.
Bessie stood looking at him with a multitude of feelings struggling for expression on her sweet, wistful, little face. Indignation at the treatment received by God’s Holy Word; pity, respect, and tender sympathy for the old negro,—were almost too much for her, and her color rose, and the tears came to her eyes.
“Little Miss feel so bad ’bout it as did old Joe,” he said, “but, Missy, dat was de Lord’s way to help old Joe. Long time he ben wantin’ a Bible an’ save up he money, and hab mos’ enough; an’ one day a poor feller come along what hab no shoes an’ hab cut he foot awful, an’ he mus’ go on to de city to see his chile what dyin’; an’ de Lord say in my heart, ‘Joe, you gib dat money for shoes for dis poor feller,’ an’ I couldn’t help it no way, Missy, an’ I buys him de shoes out de store. An’ he ain’t gone but little time, an’ I walkin’ roun’ by Miss Sims’ feelin’ down in de mout’ along ob my Bible; an’ a piece ob paper come blowin’ to my feet, an’ I picks him up, an’ ain’t he a bit out my Lord’s book, an’ I sarch roun’ an’ fin’ noder one. Praise de name ob de Lord what sen’ Joe such comfort till he hab more money!”
Bessie still stood silent, her heart too full for words at the simple story of this old disciple’s self-sacrifice. And he had only these three leaves out of God’s precious Book, while at home there were Bibles without number for all who needed them. Oh! if she only had one to give him. But here there was none,—yes, there was too.