FullReads

Such times as this come to many of us, both in knowing ourselves and our friends. An awakening, one might call it,–an opening of the blind eyes of our spiritual selves. And our ears are open to some of the voices which call us; while others might as well be silent, for all the heed we give them. We go on, from day to day, doing, with more or less faithfulness, that part of our work we have wit enough to comprehend; but one day suddenly we are shown a broader field, stretching out into the distance, and know that from this also we may bring in a harvest by and by, and with God’s help.

Miss Sydney meant to be better,–not alone for the sake of having friends, not alone to quiet her conscience, but because she knew she had been so far from living a Christian life, and she was bitterly ashamed. This was all she needed,–all any of us need,–to know that we must be better men and women for God’s sake; that we cannot be better without his help, and that his help, may be had for the asking. But where should she begin? She had always treated her servants kindly, and they were the people she knew best. She would surely try to be more interested in the friends she met; but it was nearly Christmas time, and people rarely came to call. Every one was busy. Becky Marley’s cheery face haunted her; and one day after having looked down from the window on the top of her bonnet, she remembered that she did not get any candy, after all, and she would go round to see the old lady again, she looked poor, and she would give her some money. Miss Sydney dressed herself for the street, and closed the door behind her very carefully, as if she were a mischievous child running away. It was very cold, and there were hardly a dozen persons to be seen in the streets, and Mrs. Marley had evidently been crying.

“I should like some of your candy,” said our friend.

“You know I didn’t take any, after all the other day.” And then she felt very conscious and awkward, fearing that the candy woman thought she wished to remind her of her generosity.

“Two of the large packages, if you please. But, dear me! aren’t you very cold, sitting here in the wind?” and Miss Sydney shivered, in spite of her warm wrappings.

It was the look of sympathy that was answered first, for it was more comforting than even the prospect of money, sorely as Mrs. Marley needed that.

“Yes, mum, I’ve had the rheumatics this winter awful. But the wind here!–why, it ain’t nothing to what it blows round in Jefferson Street, where I used to sit. I shouldn’t be out to-day, but I was called upon sudden to pay my molasses bill, when I’d just paid my rent; and I don’t know how ever I can. There’s sister Polly–she’s dead lame and deaf. I s’pose we’ll both be in the almshouse afore spring. I’m an old woman to be earning a living out ‘o doors in winter weather.”

There is no mistaking the fact that Miss Sydney was in earnest when she said, “I’m so sorry! Can’t I help you?”

Somehow she did not feel so awkward, and she enjoyed very much hearing this bit of confidence.

“But my trade has improved wonderful since I came here. People mostly stops to see them beautiful flowers; and then they sees me, and stops and buys something. Well, there’s some days when I gets down-hearted, and I just looks up there, and sees them flowers blooming so cheerful, and I says, ‘There! this world ain’t all cold and poor and old, like I be; and the Lord he ain’t never tired of us, with our worrying about what He’s a-doing with us; and heaven’s a-coming before long anyhow!'” And the Widow Marley stopped to dry her eyes with the corner of her shawl.