Mamie's Watchword

Lulu had heard that God lived in the sky; she had been told, too, that God loved her, and would take care of her; and the little creature startled her sister with the words, —

"Mamie, where are Dod?"

And across Mamie's mind flashed her watchword. "The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good."

"In every place!" Here, now, watching her and Lulu! For a moment it seemed to bring new terror to her, speaking, as it did, to her guilty conscience; but the next there came comfort in the thought.

Not all alone, if His eye watched them there.

"Where are Dod?" repeated Lulu.

"God is in the sky, but He sees us here," she said more calmly than she had spoken before.

"Den He not tate tare of Mamie and Lulu?" questioned the little child.

"Yes, I think He will; I do believe He will," sobbed Mamie. "I b'lieve He'll take care of you any way, Lulu darling, 'cause this wasn't your fault, but only mine. Oh, dear! oh, dear!"

"Tell him tate tare of us, tate de boat home to mamma," lisped the baby lips. "Tell Him loud up in de sty, Mamie; and tell Him we so 'faid."

Innocent darling! she did not know why or of what she was afraid; only that she and Mamie were in some great trouble, that she wanted mamma, that mamma was not here, and that somehow the beauty of the sunset sky had brought to her mind the thought of God and of His care, of which she had been told.

"So afraid!"

Poor Mamie was indeed afraid, stricken with such awful dread as, happily, seldom finds its way into childish heart; but Lulu's words brought another verse into her mind. It almost seemed to her as if a voice came over the water, and sounded it into her ear, so suddenly and so strongly did it come to her.

"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee."

Bessie Bradford had told it to her one day in the early part of the summer.

Mamie had a great terror of a thunder-storm; so had Bessie; but once, when they had happened to be together when one was passing, the former had shrieked and cried at every flash and peal, while the latter, though pale and shrinking, had remained perfectly quiet. Afterwards Mamie had said to her, —

"Bessie, how can you keep from crying when you are frightened in a thunder-storm?"

And Bessie had answered, —

"When I am very much frightened, I try to think of a verse mamma taught me to comfort me: 'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'"

At the moment it had not made much impression on Mamie; but she had not forgotten the words; and now, in her time of need, they came to her so clearly, as I have said, that it almost seemed as if they were spoken to her: —

"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee."

What a sense of hope and comfort, almost of relief, crept over the poor, miserable little child with the recollection!

And "the eyes of the Lord are in every place."

How she clung to the thought now, – the thought that she had been so ready to put from her for many a day past, which she had tried to forget because it was a reproach to her conscience, a check upon the purpose of disobedience which had led to such a terrible result!

"O God!" she said with quivering lips, "I am afraid, so afraid! please let me trust in Thee; and take a great deal of care of my Lulu and me on this dreadful water; and if there could be any way for us to go home to mamma, let us; and help me not to be naughty and disobedient again; and don't let mamma be very much frightened about us. Amen."

"Is mamma tomin' pitty soon now?" asked Lulu.

"I asked God, darling, to let us go back to her," moaned Mamie, "and He can help people a great deal; but I don't know but this is 'most too much even for Him."

Lulu understood, or noticed, only the first part of her speech, and it satisfied her, at least for the time; and, nodding her pretty head contentedly, she said, —

"Den Lulu will love Dod, an' be dood dirl."

Still the boat drifted onward, farther and farther from home and safety, out from the friendly waters of the bay, and more and more towards the open sea, where, on the distant horizon, hung a misty veil, soft purplish gray beneath, brightening above into tints of pink and amber which melted away again into the clear blue of the heaven above.

Not a sound was to be heard but the plashing of the water against the sides and keel of their boat; not a living thing was to be seen save their own two little selves. God's curtain of night was falling; and still they were alone out on the sea!

The sun was gone now; even the glorious colors which he left painted on the clouds after he had himself sunk from sight, had faded out; the evening breeze, cool and refreshing on the land, came chilly and damp over the water; and Lulu shivered as it struck through the thin muslin covering upon her tiny shoulders.

She had sat uncomplainingly after Mamie had told her she had asked God to take care of them, waiting in her own docile way to go to mamma; but now her baby patience was exhausted, as it well might be; for she was cold, hungry, and tired.

She broke into a pitiful cry.

"Lulu so told; Lulu want hupper; Lulu want mamma," she said appealingly to her sister, with oh! such a grieved, piteous face and voice, that Mamie's heart was quite broken; and now all thought of self was forgotten; and she prayed, poor little soul, that darling Lulu, at least, might be saved, and taken back to mamma, even if she might not.

Then she tried to speak words of comfort to her baby-sister. Ah, how hard it was, and what a mockery they seemed! and, taking off her own little jacket, she wrapped it about Lulu's shoulders, and, resting the weary little head against her own bosom, petted and soothed, until the long eyelashes drooped upon the dimpled cheek, and Lulu was asleep in her arms.

And then it was so lonely, oh, so lonely! far more so than when Lulu was awake, with her sweet voice prattling broken words now and then; but so great was Mamie's sense of the wrong she had done to her innocent sister, that she would not wake her, even for the comfort of her voice and look.

She had no thought or wish for sleep herself; the child's senses were all strained to the utmost, listening and watching for she knew not what.

How still it was, how very still! and deeper and yet deeper grew the dusky shadows, shrouding the distant white sails which all the afternoon had specked the far horizon, shutting them out from sight, and with them the last faint hope of help, which Mamie had somehow connected with them, leaving her no ray of comfort to cling to but those words: —

"What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee."

And night was upon the sea where drifted the lost baby voyagers; but "the eyes of the Lord are in every place."

X.

RESCUED

A SHOUT, a loud halloo, broke the stillness; a hail so sharp and sudden, so near at hand, that it startled Mamie into new terror for one moment; then, as it was repeated, brought a fluttering of hope to her sinking young heart.

A glimmer over the water; then, as she turned her head, and glanced half fearfully over her shoulder, a light shining brightly through the surrounding darkness, and coming nearer.

Another hail, to which she still made no answer; perhaps she did not understand that she would be expected to do so; then a boat coming near, – a boat from which shone the welcome light, a torch held high above the head of the boy who carried it.

Then the stranger boat was close to her own, with two people in it, an old man and a boy; and the light of the torch was falling over the little figures crouched close together; over the white face and straining eyes of the elder, over the peaceful, sleeping form of the younger.

Exclamations of wonder were exchanged between the man and boy, and questions poured upon her; this Mamie knew from the tone of voice in which they were uttered, but not one word could she understand; and their language seemed so harsh and rough to her that it almost made her afraid of them.

The end of a rope was thrown towards her, but she did not know that she was expected to catch it; and the directions the man and boy shouted out only confused and frightened her the more.

Poor child! she did not know whether to look upon these rough creatures as friends or foes.