Sunshine Factory | Page 5

Jesus to take care of Peter and let him get out of prison. Peter knew there was a prayer-meeting, so he thought he would go to it; and he knocked at the gate (they had to knock at the gate when they went to see Mary), and a girl named Rhoda went to see who was there; and instead of letting him in, she ran back and said: 'Oh, don't you think, Peter is at the gate.' Then the folks said: 'Why, no, he isn't; Peter is in prison, and the door is locked, and the soldiers have the keys. You are mistaken.' But she said: 'No, I ain't mistaken; I know it is Peter.' So they 'sputes about it and Peter kept knocking, knocking, and pretty soon some of them said: 'Come, let's go see who is knocking, that Rhoda thinks is Peter;' so they went to the gate and there they saw him, and they knew him and they were so glad to see him; they opened the gate and let him in, and they all wanted to talk to him at once, but he beckoned to them to keep still, and then he told them how Jesus came down out of heaven and woke him up, and got him out of prison. Isn't that a nice story, mamma?"
"A splendid story, darling; and every word of it is true. That was your own Jesus that you pray to, who took care of Peter and helped him out of prison."
"I know it am, mamma; I know all about him. Now, shall I tell you another story?"
"Oh, yes; I like your stories when they are as nice as this one."
"Well, now listen; this is my other story and it is all true:
'Neighbor Phinney had a turnip, And it grew behind the barn; And it grew and it grew, an' And it ne'er did any harm.
'And it grew, and it grew, As, until it could grow no better, Then Farmer Phinney took it up And put it in his cellar.
'And it lay, and it lay, Until it began to rot; And his daughter Sarah took it up, And put it in a pot.
'And it boiled, and it boiled, As long as it was able; And his daughter Mary took it up, And put it on the table.
'Then Farmer Phinney and his wife, When they sat down to dine, They ate, and they ate, And they thought that turnip fine.'"
"There, isn't that a nice story, mamma?"
Mamma, feeling a tremendous distance between that story and the last one, concludes that it is time to give the boy his morning bath, and kiss his little tongue into quiet for a few minutes.
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NETTIE'S VISIT.
It was July, and the great city was very hot. Day after day the fiery sun rose and blazed away with all his might on the dusty pavements and heated houses. All the people too who could were leaving the city.
But the poor were obliged to stay, no matter how the sun beat down into their narrow streets and small stifling rooms. There had been no rain for a long time; many people were sick and dying, and the world looked very dark to some of them. Mrs. Holmes lived high up in the topmost rooms of a tall block of buildings. Her rooms were small and hot, for the sun shone into her windows and upon the roof all the long day. She was a seamstress and a widow with one little daughter, Nettie.
Mrs. Holmes was very sad and troubled, for Nettie had not been well all the spring, and now she seemed like a little wilted flower; no strength, nor appetite, though mamma denied herself everything that she could to get nice little things to tempt her darling. The doctor had said she must have change of air, must go into the country. He might just as well have said she must go to Europe, for Mrs. Holmes had no dear old home in the country waiting to welcome her; no uncles, aunts and cousins, writing "When will you come?" So she sat through the long afternoon and tried to sew as well as she could with the heat, and the flies, and her sad thoughts.
Nettie was lying on the bed asleep, her little face as white as the pillow.
"She is going to slip right away from me, and leave me alone," the poor mother groaned to herself. "Oh, Father in heaven, help me!" she cried. "Show me what to do for my dear little daughter." The help was nearer than she thought.
"Mamma," said Nettie, sitting up very suddenly, "I had a nice dream; I guess I was in the country, for there were trees all around, and green grass, and birds singing; and such beautiful flowers! Are there any