“Dear child, I cannot enjoy it unless you share it with me; you need nourishing food quite as much as I,” returned the mother, gazing fondly into the eyes looking so lovingly into hers. “The Lord has sent us money enough to buy what we need for to-day, and we will trust him for to-morrow. A text—a precious promise—has been running in my mind ever since you came in laden with so many good things: ‘Before they call I will answer, and while they are yet speaking I will hear.’ I had been asking him very earnestly to send us help in our sore extremity, and while I was yet speaking it came.
“O daughter, let us ever stay our hearts on him, never for a moment doubting his loving-kindness and faithfulness to his promises, no matter how dark and threatening the cloud may be.”
“I’ll try, mother. Ah, I wish I had your faith. Now I must go; but I’ll be back again in five or ten minutes. But I’ll put some more berries in your saucer, first, and I don’t want to find a single one in it when I come back,” she added with playful gayety. “Aren’t they making you feel a little better already, you dear, patient mother?”
“Yes, dear, they are very refreshing. But you are giving me more than my fair share.”
“No, indeed, mamma, they were all given to you, and I have eaten a good many. I want you to finish the rest, for I do hope they will do more for you than any medicine could. Now I’m off. Don’t be lonesome while I’m gone,” and she hurried away with a light, free step, tears of joy and thankfulness shining in her eyes.
Not many minutes had passed ere she returned with the materials for what was to them a feast indeed.
“See mother,” she said, displaying her purchases, “just see how extravagant I have been! two nice lamb chops, two fresh eggs, a loaf of bread, half a dozen potatoes, a quarter of a pound of tea, and five cents’ worth of butter. Oh, but we shall have a feast! I’ll broil the chops, bake the potatoes, toast a few slices of the bread, and make you a cup of tea. I’d have bought a few cents’ worth of milk, but I remembered that you like your tea quite as well without.”
“But you don’t drink tea, dear, and should have bought some milk for yourself.”
“No, no, mother. I’m very fond of cold water and fortunately a very good article in that line can be had for the going after, no farther than to the hydrant in front of the street door,” she answered with a merry look and smile.
As she talked she was moving about with light, quick step between table and stove, performing her tasks with the ease and dexterity of a practiced hand, and without noise or bustle, her mother’s eyes following her with loving glances.