Read Ebook: Graham's Magazine Vol. XVIII No. 2 February 1841 by Various Graham George R Editor

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She eagerly watched the window for some sign that the storm was abating. The snow that had seemed so beautiful at first filled her with a vague fear now; it no longer fell softly and silently; the wind bore it by in whirling masses, that hid the river and the pond and the changing sky, and then laid it down in the valleys and on the hill-sides, to lie there, Sophy knew, till April showers and sunshine should come to melt it away. It was vain to look for any one coming with the expected food. Except now and then in a momentary lull of the storm it was quite impossible to see a rod beyond the window, and these glimpses only served to show that they were, on one side at least, quite shut in by a mountainous drift.

Yes, Sophy began to be quite afraid of the snow; tales that she had heard during her summer visits to the mountains came to her mind--how in a single night the valleys would be filled, and how whole flocks of sheep, and sometimes an unwary shepherd, had perished beneath it. She remembered how her grandfather had showed her a cottage where a mother and her children had been quite shut in for two nights and a day, till the neighbours had come to dig them out; and how a lad who had gone out for help before the storm was over had never come home again, but perished on the moor, and how they only found him in the spring time, when the snow melted and showed his dead face turned towards the sky. These things quite appalled her when she thought of venturing out in the storm.

The little store of meal held out wonderfully; the bread was put aside for her mother--hidden, indeed, that no little brother, hungry and adventurous, might find it. That night the storm abated, but towards morning it grew bitterly cold, so cold that the little lads in their thin garments could not venture out to play at making roads in the snow, and they had to submit to another day's confinement. They went out a little towards afternoon, and came in again merry and hungry, and by no means satisfied with the scanty supper which their sister had prepared for them.

HOME TRIALS.

We could never tell you all that the poor mother suffered as she lay there day after day helpless among her children. Her own illness and helplessness was the last drop, which made her cup overflow. Gradually, as she lay there listening to the roaring of the storm, it became clear, to her how little she had come to trust to her husband's promises of reformation. It was to her own efforts she must trust for the support of herself and her children; her faith in him quite failed after so many hopes and disappointments; and now what was to become of them all?

She was angry and bitter against herself, poor woman, because her hope of better days had quite perished. She called herself faithless, and said to herself that she did not deserve that it should go well with her husband, since she had ceased to believe in him and trust him; but, sick in body and sick at heart, she had no power, for the time at least, to rally. She prayed in her misery often and long, but it was to a God who seemed far away--a God who had apparently hidden His face from her.

The third day was drawing to a close. Sophy gathered the children to their daily reading near their mother's bed, and, with great pains and patience, found and kept the place for them. John was ten, and a good reader--quite equal to Sophy herself, he thought; but Ned and little Will were only just beginning to be able to read with the rest, and their sister took all the pains in the world to improve them and to make them really care for the reading; and almost always, this hour was a very pleasant time. The lesson to-day was the fifth of Mark.

"Now, boys, you must attend carefully," said Sophy, when they were seated; "because there are many wonderful things in the chapter. I read it last night by the firelight after you were all in bed; and I want each of you to tell me which part you think most wonderful. You must begin, Will, and then Ned; and then I'll read your verses over after you, so that you may understand them."

For the two little lads could make but little of anything they read themselves as yet, though they listened with pleasure to the reading of their sister. And, besides, the double reading would help to pass the time and make her brothers contented in the house.

Mrs Morely was beguiled from the indulgence of her own sad thoughts, first as she watched the little girl's grave, motherly ways with her brothers, and then by listening to the words they were reading. First, there was the story of the man who had his dwelling in the tombs. They read on slowly and gravely, Sophy reading each verse again, except when it was John's turn, till they came to the eighth, "For He said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit."

"And of course he came out of him," exclaimed Sophy. "For Jesus can do anything--yes, anything. Think of the most difficult thing in the world--Jesus could do it, as easy as I can do this." And she stooped and touched her lips to little Will's brow. The children paused to think about it, and so did the mother.

"Come out of him, thou unclean spirit."

Was it true? Had the unclean spirit obeyed the voice of Jesus then, and was that voice less powerful now? Surely not. To her He seemed far away, and yet He was near. It came upon her, as it had never come before, how if ever her husband was saved it must be through God's power and grace. If ever her husband was to be saved from the love of strong drink, it must be through a Divine power that should cleanse him and keep him and dwell in him for ever. Even the power of the Holy Ghost, which could convert his heart, and make him "a new creature in Christ Jesus."

"Sitting, and clothed, and in his right mind," spelt out little Will, slowly; and Sophy repeated, "clothed, and in his right mind."

The mother's soul went up in an agony of prayer for her husband, that he might be saved from suffering and shame, and be found "in his right mind", "sitting at the feet of Jesus."

"Surely He can do it! Surely He will do it! Oh, if I were not so faithless--so unworthy!"

Still the reading went on, and she listened to the twenty-eighth verse: "For she said, If I may touch but His clothes, I shall be whole."

"Lord, give me that poor woman's faith, that I may trust and be blessed as she was," she entreated, covering her face, that her children might not wonder at seeing her so moved. She seemed to see the Saviour now. She cast herself at His feet, "fearing and trembling." Surely He would say to her, as to that other, "Go in peace!"

And still they read on, how Jesus went to the ruler's house, and how, having put the unbelieving people out, He took the maiden's hand, and cried, "I say unto thee, Arise. And straightway the damsel arose."

"Of course she arose," said Sophy. "It made no matter that she was dead; because, you know, it was Jesus who said it. Think of all these wonderful things!"

"Wonderful indeed! Oh, for faith! Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief!" prayed the poor mother--her face still covered. Sophy thought she slept, and sent her little brothers out for a while, cold as it was, that she might be quiet; and then she went about the house, softly doing what was to be done. In a little while she brought in her mother's cup of tea; and, as the light fell on her face, she said, cheerfully, "Your sleep must have done you good, mother. You look better."

"Something has done me good, I think, love," said her mother, kissing the little girl's upturned face. "You are looking pale and weary. I hope I shall soon be well now."

"I hope so, mother,--not that I am tired; but it will be good to see you up again."

Still it grew more bitterly cold. The nails and the boards of the old house cracked so often, and with such violence, that the children grew terrified lest it should fall upon them.

As for Sophy, the thought that she ought to brave the bitter cold and all those mountainous drifts, never left her for a moment. She had been hoping all along that the expected food night come. But the fear of actual want was now drawing nearer every moment; and soon, she knew, she would have no choice but to go.

That night she divided into two parts the small quantity of meal that remained. One part she put aside for the morning, and of the other she made for her brothers' supper some thin gruel, instead of their usual hearty porridge. The hungry little lads eyed with undisguised discontent the not very savoury mess; but, fortunately, the table was laid in the corner of the room most distant from their mother's bed, and their murmurs were unheard by her.

"Now, boys, I have something to say to you," began Sophy, gravely. "There is not much supper; but you must be content with it. We shall be sure to have something more to-morrow. If the things don't come to-night, I shall go myself to the village to-morrow, to see what has become of them. At any rate, we must

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