The
night light burned low and the features of the boy upon the bed were
scarcely visible. Stooping low, a fervent "Thank God" broke from the
priest's lips as he recognized in the silent figure, the boy for whom
his heart had been yearning. His boy had been the one that was saved.
Yes, saved from death, saved from worse than death, saved to carry out
the resolutions he had made while struggling in the icy river that
Christmas morning.
NANCY'S TALE.
"Dear, dear! but God's ways are wonderful, there's no denyin' that. Many
a time we poor mortals think if we only had the handlin' of things, the
world would be a pleasanter place for some of us, but I reckon the Lord
knows His own business best. He usually manages to bring things out
right in the end, so He does."
Nancy sat before the kitchen stove, rocking to and fro, and gazing
abstractedly before her. Her mood was a reminiscent one and I knew if I
gave her time enough she would launch forth into one of the interesting
narratives of which she possessed a goodly store. To have interrupted
her train of thought by even a whisper would have been fatal; silence
and patience must be my watch-words. Presently she turned to me with the
query:
"'Member Mona, the old apple-woman you met here about a year ago?"
Remember the apple-woman? Indeed I did; once having met Mona it was
impossible to forget her.
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