“Oh, child, our Father has sent us so much, so much, don’t let us fret after anything more!” cried the mother at length, recovering the power of speech, of which surprise and joy had robbed her ever since her daughter’s entrance so richly laden.
“No, mother, no indeed! only I should so love to give you every comfort and luxury to make you well. You are so thin and weak! There, do lie back on your pillows and let me feed you. Isn’t that delicious?” putting a berry into her mouth.
“Oh, very, very! But let me thank God, and then do you eat with me.”
They were very hungry, having scarcely tasted food that day, but when the edge of their appetites had been taken off, Mrs. Allen remarked, with an inquiring look at her daughter, “But you haven’t told me yet where you got all these good things?”
“No, mother, but I’ll do it now. You know I went out in search of work. I can’t beg, but I am willing to ask for employment. I asked at some private houses, and two or three stores, but no one seemed to care to risk trying me.
“Then I saw a carriage (a very handsome one it was, with match horses) stop at a street crossing, and a boy and girl step out on the pavement. A tall, fine-looking gentleman handed the little girl out, then stepped back into the carriage, and it drove off.
“You can’t think how pretty and beautifully dressed the little girl was; she had bright dark eyes, rosy cheeks, and a smiling mouth, and as the gentleman set her down they gave each other such a loving look! I felt sure she had a kind heart, so I stepped up to her, as she stood looking after the carriage as it drove away down the street, and asked her if she knew of anybody wanting a seamstress.
“She turned round quickly and answered in a very pleasant tone. She promised to tell her mother about me when she went home, and see if she could get me work to do. She opened her purse—such a lovely one with gold clasps—as if she meant to give me money, and I felt my face grow hot at being taken for a beggar. I said it wasn’t charity I was asking for, but work.
“Then she said, in the kindest tone, ‘Of course not, you don’t look like a beggar. But I’d be glad to help you in some suitable way’; and asked where I lived.
“While I was telling her a boy came up and stood beside her listening. He asked me questions, too, and took out a note-book and wrote down my name and address. He was as nice and kind-looking as his sister—as I suppose she is, for they resemble each other strongly; the gentleman, too, that helped her out of the carriage; I think he must be their father.