XIV.
JAN.30.
WHO would have thought I would have anything more to do with poor old Susan Green? Dr.Cabot came to see me to-day, and told me the strangest thing! It seems that the nurse who performed the last offices for her was taken sick about six months ago, and that Dr.
Cabot visited her from time to time.Her physician said she needed nothing but rest and good, nourishing food to restore her strength, yet she did not improve at all, and at last it came out that she was not taking the food the doctor ordered, because she could not afford to do so, having lost what little money she had contrived to save.
Dr.Cabot, on learning this, gave her enough out of Susan's legacy to meet her case, and in doing so told her about that extraordinary will.The nurse then assured him that when she reached Susan's room and found the state that she was in, and that I was praying with her, she had remained waiting in silence, fearing to interrupt me.She saw me faint, and sprang forward just in time to catch me and keep me from falling.
"I take great pleasure, therefore," Dr.Cabot continued, "in making over Susan's little property to you, to whom it belongs; and I cannot help congratulating you that you have had the honor and the privilege of perhaps leading that poor, benighted soul to Christ, even at the eleventh hour.""Oh, Dr.Cabot '." I cried, "what a relief it is to hear you say that! For I have always reproached myself for the cowardice that made me afraid to speak to her of her Saviour.It takes less courage to speak to God than to man.""It is my belief," replied Dr.Cabot, "that every prayer offered in the name of Jesus is sure to have its answer.Every such prayer is dictated by the Holy Spirit, and therefore finds acceptance with God;and if your cry for mercy on poor Susan's soul did not prevail with Him in her behalf, as we may hope it did, then He has answered it in some other way."These words impressed me very much.To think that every one of my poor prayers is answered! Every one!
Dr.Cabot then returned to the subject of Susan's will, and in spite of all I could say to the contrary, insisted that he had no legal right to this money, and that I had.He said he hoped that it would help to relieve us from some of the petty economies now rendered necessary by Ernest's struggle to meet his father's liabilities.
Instantly my idol was rudely thrown down from his pedestal.How could he reveal to Dr.Cabot a secret he had pretended it cost him so much to confide to me, his wife? I could hardly restrain tears of shame and vexation, but did control myself so far as to say that I would sooner die than appropriate Susan's hard earnings to such a purpose, and that I should use it for the poor, as I was sure he would have done.He then advised me to invest the principal, and use the interest from year to year, as occasions presented themselves.So, Ishall have more than a hundred dollars to give away each year, as long as I live! How perfectly delightful! I can hardly conceive of anything that give me so much pleasure! Poor old Susan! How many hearts she shall cause to sing for joy!
Feb.25.-Things have not gone on well of late.Dearly as I love Ernest, he has lowered himself in my eye by telling that to Dr.
Cabot.It would have bee far nobler to be silent concerning his sacrifices; and he certainly grows harder, graver, sterner every day.
He is all shut up within himself, and I am growing afraid of him.It must be that he is bitterly disappointed in me, and takes refuge in this awful silence.Oh, if I could only please him, and know that Ipleased him, how different my life would be!
Baby does not.seem well.I have often plumed myself on the thought that having a doctor for his father would be such an advantage to him, as he would be ready 'to attack the first symptoms of disease.
But Ernest hardly listens to me when I express anxiety.about this or that, and if I ask a question he replies, "Oh, you know better than Ido.Mothers know' by instinct how to manage babies." But I do not know by instinct, or in any other way, and I often wish that the time I spent over my music had been spent learning how to meet all the little emergencies that are constantly arising since baby came.How Iused to laugh in my sleeve at those anxious mothers who lived near us and always seemed to be in hot water.Martha will take baby when Ihave other things to attend to, and she keeps him every Sunday afternoon that I may go to church, but she knows no more about his physical training than I do.If my dear mother were only here! I feel a good deal worn out.What with the care of baby, who is restless at night, and with whom I walk about lest he should keep Ernest awake, the depressing influence of father's presence, Martha's disdain, and Ernest keeping so aloof from me, life seems to me little better than a burden that I have not strength to carry and would gladly lay down.
MARCH 3.-If it were not for James I believe I should sink.He is so kind and affectionate, so ready to fill up the gaps Ernest leaves empty, and is so sunshiny and gay that I cannot be entirely sad.
Baby, too, is a precious treasure; it would be wicked to cloud his little life with my depression.I try to look at him always with a smiling face, for he already distinguishes between a cheerful and a sad countenance.
I am sure that there is something in Christ's gospel that would soothe and sustain me amid these varied trials, if I only knew what it is, and how to put forth my hand and take it.But as it is I feel very desolate.Ernest often congratulates me on having had such a good night's rest, when I have been up and down every hour with baby, half asleep frozen and exhausted.But he shall sleep at any rate.
