The Wide, Wide World | Page 6

attracted at length by voices below;
she looked down, and saw there, in one of the yards, a poor deformed
child, whom she had often noticed before, and always with sorrowful
interest. Besides his bodily infirmity, he had a further claim on her
sympathy, in having lost his mother within a few months. Ellen's heart
was easily touched this morning; she felt for him very much. "Poor,
poor little fellow!" she thought; "he's a great deal worse off than I am.
His mother is dead; mine is only going away for a few months — not
for ever — oh, what a difference! and then the joy of coming back
again!" — poor Ellen was weeping already at the thought — "and I will
do, oh, how much! while she is gone — I'll do more than she can
possibly expect from me — I'll astonish her — I'll delight her — I'll
work harder than ever I did in my life before — I'll mend all my faults,
and give her so much pleasure! But oh! if she only needn't go away! oh,
Mamma!" Tears of mingled sweet and bitter were poured out fast, but
the bitter had the largest share.
The breakfast-table was still standing, and her father gone, when Ellen
went down stairs. Mrs. Montgomery welcomed her with her usual quiet

smile, and held out her hand. Ellen tried to smile in answer, but she was
glad to hide her face in her mother's bosom; and the long close embrace
was too close and too long; it told of sorrow as well as love; and tears
fell from the eyes of each, that the other did not see.
"Need I go to school to-day, Mamma?" whispered Ellen.
"No; I spoke to your father about that; you shall not go any more; we
will be together now while we can."
Ellen wanted to ask how long that would be, but could not make up her
mind to it.
"Sit down, daughter, and take some breakfast."
"Have you done, Mamma?"
"No — I waited for you."
"Thank you, dear Mamma" with another embrace — "how good you
are! but I don't think I want any."
They drew their chairs to the table, but it was plain neither had much
heart to eat; although Mrs. Montgomery with her own hands laid on
Ellen's plate half of the little bird that had been boiled for her own
breakfast. The half was too much for each of them.
"What made you so late this morning, daughter?"
"I got up late, in the first place, Mamma; and then I was a long time at
the window."
"At the window? Were you examining into your neighbours' affairs, as
usual?" said Mrs. Montgomery, surprised that it should have been so.
"Oh, no, Mamma, I didn't look at them at all, except poor little Billy. I
was looking at the sky."
"And what did you see there that pleased you so much?"

"I don't know, Mamma; it looked so lovely and peaceful — that pure
blue spread over my head, and the little white clouds flying across it —
I loved to look at it; it seemed to do me good."
"Could you look at it, Ellen, without thinking of Him who made it?"
"No, Mamma," said Ellen, ceasing her breakfast, and now speaking
with difficulty; "I did think of Him; perhaps that was the reason."
"And what did you think of Him, daughter?"
"I hoped, Mamma — I felt — I thought — he would take care of me,"
said Ellen, bursting into tears, and throwing her arms around her
mother.
"He will, my dear daughter, — he will, if you will only put your trust in
Him, Ellen."
Ellen struggled hard to get back her composure, and after a few minutes
succeeded.
"Mamma, will you tell me what you mean exactly by my 'putting my
trust' in Him?"
"Don't you trust me, Ellen?"
"Certainly, Mamma."
"How do you trust me? — in what?"
"Why, Mamma, — in the first place I trust every word you say —
entirely — I know nothing could be truer; if you were to tell me black
is white, Mamma, I should think my eyes had been mistaken. Then
everything you tell or advise me to do, I know it is right, perfectly. And
I always feel safe when you are near me, because I know you'll take
care of me. And I am glad to think I belong to you, and you have the
management of me entirely, and I needn't manage myself, because I
know I can't; and if I could, I'd rather you would, Mamma."

"My daughter, it is just so — it is just so — that I wish you to trust in
God. He is truer, wiser,