CHAPTER XIX.

"SHE WAS SENT ME BY GOD."

"PUT away that work, child," said a clean-looking elderly woman, who was carrying a saucepan across a bright little kitchen.

She placed it on a very small fire, and turning round, faced a young woman in black, who was bending over some fine needlework in the window.

"Not till you are ready for me, mother," she returned, without raising her eyes.

"Take a run down the garden, child," still persisted the older woman; "you will not lose any time for it in the end."

Yielding to this second injunction, the young woman folded up her work quickly and carefully, and placing it in a little covered basket in the windowsill, she turned to the door which led straight from the kitchen into the garden.

Just in the doorway, looking very sweet and clean, but rather thin, sat a little girl of four years old.

"Why, Maggie," she said, "I did not know you were there. Come and have a run with mother."

"Oh, yes, mother, but Maggie wants her dinner!"

"And Maggie shall have it," said the young mother, bending her golden head down over the child with a fond embrace, "grandmother is getting it ready."

Thus assured, the child raced down the little garden, and her mother, not yet twenty-four years old, ran after her till she caught her.

Then they sat on a little bench under an apple-tree, and Maggie climbed up in her mother's lap, and laid her head on her bosom. It seemed a place well-known; and when the young woman softly began talking, the child did not seem surprised, but raised her eyes and listened.

"Long ago, Maggie, there was a poor woman. She was very poor indeed; but she had one thing that made her rich."

"Was it a shilling?" asked Maggie.

"No; it was something I have, something I love best in the world next to God."

"That's me!" said Maggie, nodding.

"Yes, you; and this poor widow had a boy, just only one."

"I'm glad she had," said Maggie, "'cause that would comfort her."

Her mother pressed her closely. "Well, they were very poor, so poor that at last they had only a little flour and a little oil left."

"What was oil for?"

"Like butter, to make it nice with."

"Oh!"

"Just as they were gathering some sticks to make a fire to bake their last little loaf, a man came up and asked the woman to fetch him some water.

"In the country where they lived, Maggie, people could not get water everywhere, and he had been a long journey, and was very thirsty. So she went directly to get him some; but he called her back, and said he was hungry too, would she give him some bread?"

Maggie's eyes looked sorrowful. "Poor woman, she had not much herself."

"No; and she explained this to the man; but he promised her in the name of the Lord God of Israel, whom he served, that if she would do as he asked, she should never want as long as the famine lasted."

"What is a famine?" asked Maggie.

"When people have eaten up all the bread there is, and there is no more, even in the shops."

"How dreadful!" exclaimed Maggie.

"Very," said her mother.

"But this poor woman believed that the Lord could do what He said, and every time she went to the barrel of flour, she found just as much in it as there was before; and so there was in the bottle of oil, it never wasted away."

"That was nice!" exclaimed Maggie.

"Yes; the Lord took care of them; and the prophet Elijah, for that was the man's name, and the widow, and her son, had enough to eat all the time."

"There is grandmother clapping her hands for us, mother."

"So she is; come along."

The child needed no second bidding, and they were soon seated round the table, on which stood one covered dish and three plates, and a salt-cellar.

The grandmother rose, and the others rose too, as was their custom. "Father," she said, "we thank Thee that Thou has kept Thy promise to us, and given us our daily bread; may we have contented hearts to serve Thee, for Jesus' sake. Amen."

Then the grandmother uncovered a large dish of steaming, floury potatoes, and helped them round. It was a simple meal; but it was cooked beautifully, and was served clean and hot. The colour came into the younger woman's cheeks as she ate.

"Nice potatoes, aren't they?" said her mother.

"Beautiful! You do boil them well, mother."

The moment the frugal dinner was over, the young woman took up her work and diligently went on with it; while the grandmother arrayed Maggie in a fresh pinafore, and sent her off to the village school; after which she washed up the few plates, and swept up the kitchen.

"I wish, child," said the woman, "you could get something to do that tried your eyes less, and that paid you better."

"So do I, mother," she answered, passing her hand over her eyes wearily; "but I do not hear of it."

"I am afraid this hard fare is injuring your health, Margaret; you have not been brought up to it, and it makes such a difference."

"I do not mind it, mother, so long as we can all keep together."

"But I do; what would our Jack say if he saw your thin checks?"

"He is not here to see," said the girl, lowering her head, while there was a sound of distress in her voice.

"No, my blossom; if he were here to see, he would soon alter it; but God has taken him from us. Still, child, we must be wise and do the best we can. You see you have been used to service all your life till you married my Jack, and I can't help thinking it would suit you better than this close needlework."

"But there's my Maggie!"

"True, I don't forget her; but you could earn good wages as a nurse, child. There's Mary at Mrs. Arundel's, how nice she gets on."

"But I should have to leave my Maggie," said Margaret, shaking her head; "I don't think I could do that, mother, even with you."

"I would take good care of the child, that you know. And my little bit of washing would keep the home over our heads; if only I could get more of it."

"Yes; there is nothing to be got in our village; but, mother, she was sent me by God, and while He gives me strength, I will try to bring her up for Him. No one must take my duty while He spares me."

"So be it, Margaret; then we must wait God's time. We have never really wanted yet."

That evening as they sat at tea, which was their favourite meal, the postman came up the garden. "Why here's a letter from Mary!" exclaimed the grandmother joyfully. "I didn't expect one to-day."

"So it is; and it is for me, mother."

"Well, to be sure; what does she say, child?"

The younger woman read—

"My dear Margaret,—Our young lady, Miss Nellie, came into my nursery last night, and she says, 'Mary, have not you a sister-in-law, a widow, with one little girl?'

"Of course I said, 'Yes.' And she asked a lot of questions about you and Maggie; and then she says, 'Do you think she would be willing to take a nurse's place, where there might be nine or ten little children?'

"I said you would not leave Maggie; and she says quickly, 'Oh, no! I never meant her to; she would bring Maggie with her, and Maggie would be brought up with the other children.'

"I suppose it is some sort of school; but Miss Nellie did not explain. She said I might write and ask you; and if you were pleased at it, her friend (that's Miss Arbuthnot, I fancy) would pay your fare to come and see her.

"What do you think of it, dear sister-in-law? Please write and tell me at once.

"Give my love to dear mother. We are going home in two or three days now; but we are very happy, and all are well, as I hope this finds you.

"Your affectionate sister,

"MARY FENTON."

The grandmother sat during the reading of the letter with wide staring eyes.

"Praise the Lord!" she said. "Praise the Lord!"

Margaret's tears were falling fast and bright; and the letter was in danger of being obliterated.

"If it is all it looks, mother," she said, "it is like the barrel of meal and the cruse of oil."

"It is, my child. 'Praise the Lord; for His mercy endureth for ever.'"

[Illustration]

[Illustration]