Alls For the Best | Page 3

has faith in
virtue--he has trust in God--he knows that all will come out right in the
end, and that he will be a wiser and better man for the trial that tested
his principles--for the storms that toughened, but did not break the
fibres of his soul."
"You lift me into a new region of thought," said Mr. Fanshaw, "A dim
light is breaking into my mind. I see things in a relation not perceived
before."
"Will you call with me on an old friend?" asked Mr. Wilkins.
"Who?"
"A poor man. Once rich."
"He might feel my visit as an intrusion."
"No."
"What reduced him to poverty?"
"A friend, in whom he put unlimited faith, deceived and ruined him."
"Ah!"
"And he has never been able to recover himself."
"What is his state of mind?"
"You shall judge for yourself."
In poor lodgings they found a man far past the prime of life. He was in
feeble health, and for over two months had not been able to go out and
attend to business. His wife was dead, and his children absent. Of all
this Mr. Fanshaw had been told on the way. His surprise was real, when
he saw, instead of a sad-looking, disappointed and suffering person, a

cheerful old man, whose face warmed up on their entrance, as if
sunshine were melting over it. Conversation turned in the direction Mr.
Wilkins desired it to take, and the question soon came, naturally, from
Mr. Fanshaw--
"And pray, sir, how were you sustained amid these losses, and trials,
and sorrows?"
"Through faith and patience," was the smiling answer. "Faith in God
and the right, and patience to wait."
"But all has gone wrong with you, and kept wrong. The friend who
robbed you of an estate holds and enjoys it still; while you are in
poverty. He is eating your children's bread."
"Do you envy his enjoyment?" asked the old man.
Mr. Fanshaw shook his head, and answered with an emphasis--"No!"
"I am happier than he is," said the old man. "And as for his eating my
children's bread, that is a mistake. His bread is bitter, but theirs is
sweet." He reached for a letter that lay on a table near him, and opening
it, said--"This is from my son in the West. He writes:--'Dear Father--All
is going well with me. I enclose you fifty dollars. In a month I am to be
married, and it is all arranged that dear Alice and I shall go East just to
see you, and take you back home with us. How nice and comfortable
we will make you! And you shall never leave us!'"
The old man's voice broke down on the last sentence, and his eyes
filled with tears. But he soon recovered himself, saying--
"Before I lost my property, this son was an idler, and in such danger
that through fear of his being led astray, I was often in great distress of
mind. Necessity forced him into useful employment; and you see the
result. I lost some money, but saved my son. Am I not richer in such
love as he bears me to-day, than if, without his love, I possessed a
million of dollars? Am I not happier? I knew it would all come out
right. I had faith, and I tried to be patient. It is coming out right."
"But the wrong that has been done," said Mr. Fanshaw. "The injustice
that exists. Here is a scoundrel, a robber, in the peaceful enjoyment of
your goods, while you are in want."
"We do not envy such peace as his. The robber has no peace. He never
dwells in security; but is always armed, and on the watch. As for me, it
has so turned out that I have never lacked for food and raiment."
"Still, there is the abstract wrong, the evil triumphing over the good,"

said Mr. Fanshaw.
"How do you reconcile that with your faith in Providence?"
"What I see clearly, as to myself," was replied, "fully justifies the ways
of God to man. Am I the gainer or the loser by misfortune? Clearly the
gainer. That point admits of no argument. So, what came to me in the
guise of evil, I find to be good. God has not mocked my faith in him. I
waited patiently until he revealed himself in tender mercy; until the
hand to which I clung in the dark valley led me up to the sunny hills.
No amount of worldly riches could give me the deep satisfaction I now
possess. As for the false friend who robbed me, I leave him in the
hands of the all-wise Disposer of events. He will not find, in ill-gotten
gain, a blessing. It will not make his bed soft; nor