"As well as one can expect, Miss Evans, thank you. And he's very patient, considering that it is harder work for a man like him to be quiet than it is for some. He was always on the move, you see, when he was able to work, and to a willing man, the worst job you can give him is to lie still."
"That's true enough; but I didn't know your husband was one of that sort. I thought—" and then the forewoman hesitated, for she did not like to say to the self-devoting wife and mother what she had heard about John Duncan. How he spent in drink a large share of the money he had worked hard to win, and how the poor wife was often afraid to leave her tidy home, especially on a Sunday, lest she should return to find her crockery broken and the little ones frightened out of the house by the harsh words, perhaps even blows of the intoxicated father. And yet she had also heard that, when sober, John Duncan was a kind man enough and very proud of his comely wife and fine healthy children.
A flush crossed Mrs. Duncan's face as she heard the "I thought" of the forewoman. She guessed what was passing in her mind, and what had prevented her from giving utterance to it in words. "There's no harder-working man than John, when he can work, Miss Evans; but he has sometimes given the neighbours reason to talk, poor fellow! Still, if they do talk, it's not my place to help them by finding them materials. I'm in hopes that there's a better time coming to us, for all we may seem to be under a cloud now," said Mrs. Duncan, as she hastily whisked away a tear that was going to run down her cheek.
"You're just a wonder to me, Mrs. Duncan. I do not know how you keep up. Work, work, work, from early morning till nobody but yourself knows how late at night; with all those children to think about and care for; cooking, mending, nursing—for you've two little better than babies—and your husband as he is! It's enough to break down half-a-dozen women. And here you come with a smile and a pleasant word for everybody."
"Why, now, Miss Evans, we'll look at the other side, and see what a lot of things I have to keep me up. I've wonderful health, and feel strong and hearty. I'm willing to work, and you find me as much work as I can do. There's a real houseful of children but, then, those that are too little to work can run errands and amuse those that are less still. They're all very good, considering I cannot look after them so well as I should like. Then there's John! Ailing, to be sure, but living and likely to live, though he was in the very grip of death, as one may say, a month ago. Now haven't I something to be cheerful about, Miss Evans?"
"You are determined to look at the best side of everything, Mrs. Duncan; but I doubt there are not many of us that would bear up as you do, if we were in your place."
"Well, to say the truth, I don't bear up at all. It is just Christ that bears me up and my trouble too. He says, 'Cast thy burden upon the Lord,' and He does not tell me to do that without a plain promise that He will sustain me. He tells me to call upon Him in the day of trouble, and He will deliver me. So I lift up my heart to Him all the time I am treadling away at the machine, and my feet go faster and my heart feels lighter when I think that I've told Him all about it. Not but what He knew before. Still He has said He will be inquired of to do all these things that we want, and if we can receive for asking, surely it should not be too much trouble to speak. The wonder is that God is willing to answer such as I am."
"And do you really think God does answer you, Mrs. Duncan?" asked a pale-faced eager-looking girl, who had been listening attentively to the conversation between her and the forewoman.
"Do I believe God answers? To be sure I do, my dear. I don't mind telling you something about that, for I know we are so apt to get doubtful, in spite of all the promises, and the experience that a poor woman like me has had of God's faithfulness may help to strengthen some one else. You would hardly believe it now, but my poor John's sad accident has brought an answer to my prayer of years and years."
"Why, you don't mean to say you asked for that, Mrs. Duncan?"