"Here," said I to my heart, "learn how to make the heavy load of iron cares easy." One day she passed with a bag of sand. On her return she called on me. I inquired how much Mrs. —— gave her for the sand. She was unwilling to tell, and I feared she was unwilling lest I should withhold my accustomed mite, on account of what she had already received; I therefore insisted she should let me see.
She at length consented, and I drew from the bag a bone, not containing meat enough for half a meal. "Is this all? Did that rich woman turn you off so? How cruel, how hard-hearted!" I exclaimed. "Misse," she replied, "this made me 'fraid let you see it; I 'fraid you would be angry: I hope she have bigger heart next time, only she forget now that Jesus promise to pay her all she give Sarah. Don't be angry, I pray God to give her a great deal bigger heart."
The conviction, that she possessed, in an eminent degree, the Spirit of Him who said, "Bless them that curse you," and prayed for His murderers, rushed upon my mind with energy, and I could compare myself in some measure to those who said, "Shall we command fire to come down from heaven," etc. I think I never felt deeper self-abhorrence and abasement; I left her for a moment, and from the few comforts I possessed, gave her a considerable portion.
She received them with the most visible marks of gratitude—arose to depart, went to the door, and then turned, looking me in the face with evident concern. "Sarah," said I, "what would you have?" (supposing she wanted something I had not thought of, and she feared to ask). "Oh, my good misse!" said she, "nothing; only 'fraid your big heart feel some proud 'cause you give more for nothing than Misse —— for sand."
This faithfulness, added to her piety and gratitude, completed the swell of feeling already rising in my soul; and bursting into tears, I said, "O Sarah! when you pray that Mrs. —— may have a bigger heart, don't forget to pray that I may have an humbler one." "I will, misse, I will," she exclaimed with joy, and hastened on her way.
Another excellence in her character, was, that she loved the habitation of God's house, and often appeared there, when, from bad weather or other causes, many a seat of affluence was empty. She was always early, ever clean and whole in her apparel, though sometimes almost as much diversified with patches as the shepherd's coat.
She was very old and quite feeble, yet she generally stood during public service, with eyes riveted on the preacher. I have sometimes overtaken her on the steps, after service, and tapping her on her shoulder, would say, "Have you had a good day, Sarah?" "All good; sweeter than honey," she would reply.
In the spring of 1818, it was observed by her friends that she did not appear at Meeting as usual, and one of her particular female benefactors asked her the reason; when she, with streaming eyes, told her that her clothes had become so old and ragged that she could not come with comfort or decency; but said she had been praying God to provide for her in this respect, a great while, and telling Jesus how much she wanted to go to His house of prayer, and expressed a strong desire to be resigned and submissive to His will.