'John Henry,' said grandmother in a trembling voice, 'Polly has gone home.'
'Gone home, and left the children behind her!' he exclaimed.
'Ay, my dear,' said his mother, bursting into tears; 'the Lord sent for her.'
'You don't mean to say she's dead, mother!' he moaned.
'Nay, my dear, she is living with the Lord,' said the old woman.
'Oh, mother, mother,' he sobbed, 'to think I left her like that, and she never knew how sorry I was!'
It was a long, long time before he could speak, or could tell them his story. He had been in America in dreadful straits and in many dangers. At length he fell ill with fever, and lay for many weeks at the point of death, in a log cabin, with only a boy of ten, the son of a poor emigrant, to do anything for him. But this trouble had shown him his sin, and he had come to the Lord Jesus for forgiveness, and ever since then God had blessed him. He had not become a rich man, but he had earned enough to bring him home, and he had saved a little besides, and with this he hoped to start life afresh.
'But you'll never rob me of my bairns, John Henry,' said the old woman, in alarm; 'you'll never take them away, when we've all been so happy together!'
And the bare possibility of losing the children seemed quite to damp poor old grandmother's joy in getting her beloved John Henry home again.
'Well, mother, we must see,' he said; 'we must ask God to order for us.'