Polly sobbed and sobbed. It was not her custom to give way thus utterly, but she was in severe pain of body, and she had got a great shock when the loss of little Pearl had been announced by David.
“What shall I do?” she moaned and sobbed. “Oh, I’m the sort of girl who oughtn’t to go a step alone.”
While she cried all by herself on the moor, and the friendly stars looked down at her, and the moon came out and shone on her poor forsaken little figure, an old verse she used to say in her early childhood returned to her memory. It was the verse of a hymn—a hymn her mother was fond of, and used often to sing, particularly about the time of the New Year, to the children.
Mrs. Maybright had a beautiful voice, and on Sunday evenings she sang many hymns, with wonderful pathos and feeling, to her children. Polly, who cared for music on her own account, had loved to listen. At these times she always looked hungrily into her mother’s face, and a longing and a desire for the best things of all awoke in her breast. It was at such times as these that she made resolves, and thought of climbing high and being better than others.
Since her mother’s death, Polly could not bear to listen to hymns. In church she had tried to shut her ears; her lips were closed tight, and she diligently read to herself some other part of the service. For her mother’s sake, the hymns, with that one beautiful voice silent, were torture to her; but Polly was a very proud girl, and no one, not even her father, who now came nearest to her in all the world, guessed what she suffered.
Now, lying on the moor, her mother’s favorite hymn seemed to float down from the stars to her ears:
“I know not the way I am going,
But well do I know my Guide;
With a trusting faith I give my hand
To the loving Friend at my side.”
“The only thing that I say to Him
As He takes it is, ‘Hold it fast!
Suffer me not to lose my way,
And bring me home at last!’”
It did not seem at all to Polly that she was repeating these words herself; rather they seemed to be said to her gently, slowly, distinctly, by a well-loved and familiar voice.
It was true, then, there was a Guide, and those who were afraid to go alone could hold a Hand which would never lead them astray.
Her bitter sobs came more quietly as she thought of this. Gradually her eyes closed, and she fell asleep.