“‘I don’t know,’ said Sue thoughtfully, ‘which I would rather. But those poor people haven’t either, have they?’
“‘Not enough,’ said the cobbler. ‘They manage to pick up enough to keep them alive somehow.’—And he sighed, for the subject came near home.
“‘Father,’ said Sue, ‘I don’t believe God will let us starve.’
“‘I do not think he will, my dear,’ said the cobbler.
“‘Then why do you sigh?’
“‘Because I deserve that he should, I believe,’ said the cobbler, hanging his head. ‘I deserve it, for not trusting him better. ‘Casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you.’ Ah, my dear, we can’t get along without running to our upper storehouse pretty often.’
“‘Father, I guess God don’t mean we should.’
“‘That’s just it!’ said the cobbler. ‘That is just, no doubt, what he means. Well dear, let’s learn the lesson he sets us.’
“‘Then, father,’ said Sue, ‘don’t you think we have a good little house? It’s large enough, and it’s warm.’
“‘Yes dear,’ said the cobbler; ‘some of those poor people we were talking about would think themselves as well off as kings if they had such a house to live in as this.’