Oh, no, I do not
tread a darkened pathway, Mrs. Endicott. There is light upon it from
the Sun of heaven, and I am walking forward, weary at times, it may
be, but with unwavering footsteps. I have been tried sorely, it is
true--I have suffered, oh how deeply! and yet I can say, and do say,
it is good for me that I was afflicted. But I meant not to speak so
much of myself, and you must forgive the intrusion. Self, you know,
is ever an attractive theme. I have called this morning to try and
interest you in a poor woman who lives next door to me. She is very
ill, and I am afraid will die. She has two children, almost
babes--sweet little things--and if the mother is taken they will be
left without a home or a friend, unless God puts it into the heart
of some one to give them both. I have been awake half the night,
thinking about them, and debating the difficult question of my duty
in the case. I might make room for one of them--"
"You!" Mrs. Endicott interrupted her in a voice of unfeigned
astonishment. "You! How can you give place a moment to such a
thought, broken down in health as you are and with five children of
your own clinging to you for support? It would be unjust to yourself
and to them.
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