“Oh, thank you, Grandma Elsie! Thank you, papa; I should like to go very much indeed”, exclaimed Lulu joyously.
While Lulu talked with Susan Allen in the city street that afternoon, the girl’s mother lay on a bed of straw in the small attic room they called home; a very forlorn specimen of a home it was, though everything in and about it was scrupulously neat and clean; the floor was bare, save a strip of carpet beside the bed; there were three unpainted wooden chairs, a little table to match, and a tiny stove; their few changes of raiment hung on hooks along the wall back of the bed, and a few cheap dishes and cooking utensils were ranged in an orderly manner on some shelves in one corner.
The one window was shaded by a paper blind and short white curtain, both bearing evidence of careful mending, as did the night-dress worn by the invalid, the sheets and pillowcases of her bed.
She was not an old woman; Susan was but sixteen, and her mother, who had married very young, little more than twice that age. But toil and privation had broken down her health, and aged her before her time, so that she looked full forty; there were very perceptible lines in her forehead, and the dark hair was streaked with gray; yet it was a pleasant face to look upon—so full of sweet patience and resignation.
A well-worn Bible lay beside her, and one hand rested upon the open page; but her eyes were closed and tears trickled down her wasted cheek, while her lips moved as if in prayer.
One standing very near might have heard the low, murmured words, but they reached only the ear of Him who has said: “Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver thee and thou shalt glorify me.”
It was that promise she was pleading.
“Lord,” her pale lips whispered, “I believe thy word and obey thy kind command; it is the day of trouble with me and my beloved child. We are in sore straits; the last cent is gone, the last crust eaten; we have neither barn nor storehouse, yet I know thou wilt feed us as thou dost the sparrows; for thou hast said, ‘Are not ye much better than they?’ and, ‘Your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.’ Lord, increase my faith and let me never for one moment doubt thy word—thy promise to deliver those who call upon thee in the day of trouble, and never to leave or forsake any who put their trust in thee. Oh, blessed be thy holy name, for all the great and precious promises thou hast given thy people, and upon which thou hast taught me to lean in every time of trouble!”
She was still pouring out her soul in prayer and praise when Susan’s light step came up the stairs, the door was hastily thrown open, and she entered with flushed, beaming face, and arms full of bundles, half breathless with excitement and exertion.
“Mother, dear mother!” she cried, as she hastened to deposit her burdens on the table, “I know you have been praying for help, and God has sent it. See here! the very luxury I have been longing to get you, but without the least hope of being able to do so; great, lovely, luscious strawberries!” gently pouring them from the paper bag in which she had carried them, on to a plate. “I’ll put some of the finest on a saucer for you. Here is sugar for them, too, and delicate crackers to eat with them. And here are oranges; the finest in the market! O mother, eat and grow strong!” she added, tears springing to her eyes, as she put a saucer of berries into her mother’s hand and laid a fine orange by her side. “I won’t keep you waiting till I can stem the berries, but just give you some sugar on another saucer to dip them into. Oh, if I only had some of the rich cream for you that we used to have before we left the farm!”