Grandmother’s Room
"Well, the Lord would know better," said she comfortingly, "and by and by others would. It'll be your works, as well as your words, that will tell if you're in earnest."
"That's so, mother, that's so; the minister said that very thing last Sabbath. He's been preaching right at me this two months, and it made me mad at first. I thought I wouldn't give him a cent this year, but I guess he told the truth."
"Yes, of course he did. That's what he's made for. But now, John, you won't give up seeking until you get the blessing, will you? Promise me this and one thing more. Don't let the love of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, tempt you to give way to Satan for one minute."
"Well, I'll see what I can do, but it looks like a great task before me." And John really felt as though he was preparing for a stern conflict. He went out to his work again, while Grandmother Lyman knelt down on the soft, bright carpet, the sunset light falling around her, and sent a prayer up to the Father's throne so full of thanksgiving and love that the answer was not delayed, but came, bringing peace and joy to her trusting heart.
Pretty soon Phœbe came stealing in with a look of apprehension resting upon her countenance.
"Mother," said she, sinking into the first chair she reached, "I'm afraid John's going to die."
"My child, what do you mean?" queried the old lady, pushing her spectacles to the top of her head.
"Because he's changed so lately. Fixing up this room, you know, and being so gentle like—what can it mean unless he's going to die?"