The Juvenile Scrap-book for 1849. Various
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upon my endeavors, will yet be able to support you. If I could obtain some paper and pencils, I think I could draw patterns for embroidery, and the storekeeper at the next town tells me they are quite in demand.”
Mrs. Carson drew her daughter to her bosom, inwardly blessing her; and promised she should have the materials, if they could borrow the requisite pence from their neighbor. This was obtained, and Lizzie soon completed a number of patterns, which she carried to the neighboring town, a distance of three miles. Here she was doomed to a disappointment, for owing to the number of patterns in the store, the woman, though kind-hearted and much interested in the appearance of the little girl, could not afford to give her so large a sum as she had first promised. Bearing up with what spirits she might, Lizzie turned her steps homeward, after purchasing some few necessaries for her mother. But the way seemed very long, and her little feet ached with traveling on the stones, so that it was with a heavy heart that she greeted her mother on her return. Still Lizzie Carson persevered, though her mother’s increased debility made severe inroads in her little earnings; and the evening on which we introduce them to our readers there was not a penny in the house, and they were beside in debt to a neighbor. Had they not cause for sad thoughts?
“I think, mother,” said Lizzie, after she had finished her drawing, “I will take this to the store to-night, and then I can get you some mixture. It distresses me so to hear you coughing when you should be sleeping.”
“Is it not too far? I am afraid it will be dark before you get back—beside there are some heavy clouds in the west.”
“Oh, I do not feel the least fear, and you know, mother, there is nothing in the house to eat, and no money to buy with, unless I sell my patterns to-night.”
The widow bowed her head upon her clasped hands, and remained silent a few moments—when she raised it, there was a holy calm upon her face as she replied, “God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb; our prospects look very dark now, my daughter, and we have no earthly friend to turn to, but always remember, my beloved child, when I am no longer here to counsel you, that ‘God will never forsake those who trust in Him.’ ”
Pondering upon her mother’s words, the little girl set out upon her errand; but after walking some distance, the clouds, which had been long lowering, broke into a storm—the vivid lightning blinding her eyes so that she was obliged to cover them with her hands. Lizzie stopped and looked around her, in hopes of seeing a place of shelter, but though she could discern a farmhouse, it was at too great a distance to be reached in such a pelting rain. The scene was indeed a fearful one for that lonely child to gaze upon—the trees bending and creaking with the mighty wind, the forked lightning wreathing around and above her, while the crouching forms of the frightened cattle added terror to the picture.
“God will never forsake those who trust in him,” murmured the trembling child, as she sunk on her knees beneath the shelter of a large elm. At that instant came a flash so vivid that the whole heavens seemed in a blaze, and the crashing thunder deafened her for the instant, then rolled echoing away among the distant hills. Stunned and terrified, Lizzie remained for some moments on her knees, her face buried in her lap; and when she gazed once more around her, her heart had well nigh stopped its beatings. Within a few feet of where she had been kneeling, a noble oak was riven by the storm, and a nest of little birds lay dead among its branches—beside a fence at a little distance was the stiffening body of a fine horse—and still further to the right, flames were issuing from the barn belonging to the farmhouse she had seen. All, all around breathed the desolation of the tempest, save that little child, who, with upraised hands and streaming eyes, again repeated, “God will never forsake those who trust in him.”
The storm had done its worst—that last peal had broken up its fury, and the sun was already struggling through the parting clouds, as Lizzie Carson continued her memorable walk. By the time she reached the store, all traces of it had disappeared, and her wet dress was almost dried. A carriage was drawn up before the house, and a richly-dressed lady was standing at the counter, while a benevolent-looking gentleman, apparently her father, leaned upon his cane in the doorway. The storekeeper turned to Lizzie with a smile, remarking, however, “I hope you have not brought me any more patterns; my stock is so large, and the demand for them decreasing.”
“Patterns for embroidery—I should like to look at some,” said the lady, turning again to the counter.
“Will you please to look at mine, dear madam,” said Lizzie earnestly, catching hold of her dress and reaching up one, which the lady took to examine. “Indeed it will be a charity to buy of me, I have walked so far through the storm, and my poor mother has no bread.”
“Walked through this storm! why child, were you not afraid?”
“My mother told me God would protect me, and he did,” replied Lizzie, raising her pure innocent eyes to the lady’s face.
“Tell me of your mother, sweet child; she deserves assistance for instilling such sentiments in her child.”
We must not make our story too long, suffice it that Lizzie and her mother found kind and substantial friends in these strangers, through the piety, industry, and filial obedience of this little girl.
M. G. W⸺.
CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.
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