Of no account

by Ruth Lamb

"There's nobody knows all about the house and where everything is, like I do, aunt, or could be of the same use all at once, as I can."

"That's just it, my girl. Margaret Livesey ought to know your value, and that the help that is worth having is worth asking for."

"Yes, aunt. But then think how many blessings God gives us that we never ask for, just because of our need, and even when we are not a bit thankful. Whatever should we do if He waited to send everything till we showed that we valued His givings as we ought!"

"Sarah, you are just like your uncle. He always goes to the same Teacher for his lessons. Sometimes I'm ready to be vexed with him, and tell him he's poor spirited to put up with the things he does. But it's no use, he gets over me by putting me in mind of what his Master did when He walked the earth as man, and spent His days and nights in doing good, and specially to His enemies. Go your ways, my lass, and may you be welcomed and blest in the work your hand finds to do! If you are not wanted at Adam Livesey's, you can just come back; you're never one too many in this house."

Sarah's hand was on the latch, and she was about to set out, when little Tom arrived with his tear-stained face, and full of the message which he had not breath to deliver.

"You want me to go back with you, don't you, my man?" said Sarah. "I was just coming."

Tom nodded, and pushing his hand confidingly into Sarah's, turned to retrace his steps in her company.

Amid the general confusion and sense of trouble in Tom's mind, a gleam of comfort now found place. It could not be all bad, if it were the means of bringing dear, kind Sarah to the house again. It was a pity that it should be so, but he and the other children often looked longingly back on the time of mother's absence as the brightest bit in their lives, and they sometimes ventured to whisper the wish to each other that she might have to go away again for something.

Now, the very sight of Sarah and the grasp of her hand gave confidence, and by degrees Tom managed to tell her what had happened at home, of the condition in which he had left his mother, and the message sent by Richard Evans to herself.

"They said father was dead," added Tom, "and I ran home and told mother, and then Mr. Evans came and said father was alive, only he had been hurt and his arm was broke, so they'd taken him to get it set. Then mother went so white and fell down on the floor. I thought she was dead too."