“Hesper,” said he abruptly, “are you willing that Mose should go to sea?”
“Yes sir;” she replied meekly and without hesitation.
“Do you consider, at the same time,” he asked, “that the work will be harder and heavier for you—that there will be more care, and one the less to labor?”
“Yes sir; but I am willing to do and bear any thing if he can only go, for it will certainly kill him if he works in the mill much longer.”
“But,” he continued, “supposing that your mother should be worse—perhaps die, and I should be taken sick, what would become of us then?”
Hesper’s eyes filled with tears and her lips quivered—“I don’t know sir,” said she, “but I think the Lord would care for us.”
“Poor, simple child!” said her father—“there are a great many people left to the care of the Lord, who perish miserably. Think of the fathers, and mothers, and little children, who die for want of bread, and of the wretched beings in our great cities, with scarce a mouthful of food and no shelter from the heat of summer, or the piercing cold of winter. Does the Lord care for them?”
Hesper was silent a few moments, and then a great thought stirred her heart, sending the blood to her cheeks, and the brightness to her eyes.
“I don’t know sir,” said she, “why such dreadful things happen, but I do know that when I have said the Lord would help me, and have given all up to Him that He always has. I would not like to starve, but if I should, I would try to be patient, for God alone knows what is best.”
Her father looked at her in astonishment. He did not speak, but he leaned his face upon his hands. He thought of the time when he was a little child and went with his father to the church. Heaven seemed very near him then, and God both good and great. Hesper’s simple words had touched his better feelings. He longed to be a child once more, and feel that confidence in the heavenly Father’s love, which he had once known. When he spoke again his manner was greatly changed.