“Yes, grandmother, it is just ready, such as it is,” replied Maggie; “but I could wish poor Jack had a better meal after his hard work than what we are able to give him.”
“Ay, ay, child, I wish it as much as you can; but what is to be done? Wishing will never make us rich folk, and we may be thankful if worse troubles than a poor supper do not come upon us soon.”
So spoke the grandmother, and taking the spectacles from her nose, she wiped their dim glasses with her apron.
“Why, grandmother, what do you mean?” cried Maggie, looking up in alarm. “What worse troubles can be coming, think you?” And eagerly and anxiously she fixed her bright blue eyes upon her grandmother’s face.
“Well,” replied the old woman, “the truth is just this, Maggie: I hear that the new landlord is going to make some changes among his tenants; the cottages are all to be repaired, and the folks who can pay higher rents will stay, while those who cannot must find lodging elsewhere. And how can we ever pay a higher rent, Maggie? Even now, every penny of poor Jack’s earnings is spent at the end of the week, and yet we live as cheaply as ever we can.”
For a moment or two the girl’s face was as perturbed and downcast as that of her grandmother’s, and she bent over her knitting in silence; but by an evident effort she quickly assumed a more cheerful aspect. And advancing to the old lady’s side, and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, she said,—
“Don’t fret, dear grandmother; God has cared for us so far, and he will never suffer us to want, if we put our trust in him. That’s what father used to say, and what he said up to the very day of his death.”
So saying, Maggie stooped and kissed the withered cheek of that father’s mother, thereby enforcing, as it were, her encouraging words.
“God bless you, my child!” sobbed the old woman, returning the kiss. “You remind me of what I am too apt to forget. Yes, Maggie, your father’s God is our God, and he will never forsake his people. I will wipe away these tears, and put faith in him for the future.” And the grandmother dried her eyes, and rising from her low seat, said cheerfully, “Maggie, dear, go to the gate, and watch for your brother Jack. When you see him coming across the field, let me know, and I will dish up the supper, so as to have it ready.”
Maggie put down her work, and passing through the low doorway of the cottage, stood presently at the little gate that separated the tiny garden from the meadow of a neighboring farmer, who turned his cattle out there to graze.