Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

“‘O, yes we should!’ said Sue.

“‘I don’t know,’ said the cobbler. ‘I shouldn’t know what my little daughter can do, and bear, if she had not had a chance to shew me.’

“‘Why I don’t have much to bear, father,’ said Sue.

“‘Mother wouldn’t know what a good nurse you can be.’

“‘I wish she hadn’t a chance to know that, father.’

“‘Yes,’ said the cobbler,—‘your mother’s sickness—that seems the hardest evil we have had to do with. It’s not easy to find any present comfort of that; nor any present good; for I am afraid it makes me more impatient than patient. Maybe that’s why I have it. But if we can’t see the reason of a great many things now, we shall by and by. We shall know, Sue, what the reason was. ‘Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee and to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments or no.’’

“Sue lifted up her head, and her little face was beautiful for the strong patience, and bright trust, and love that was in it. Her eyes were swimming and her lips were speaking, though they only moved to tremble.

“‘We can wait, Sue,’ said the cobbler, gently. Sue laid down her head again.

“‘So it seems we have got the reason of it already,’ Mr. Peg went on, ‘if not the good.’

“‘Maybe we’ve got some of the good too, without knowing it,’ said his little daughter.

“‘Still, well be very glad to have mother get well.’

“‘Oh, won’t we!’ said Sue.

“‘And it will teach us how to be thankful for the common things we forget.’

“There was a little pause.

“‘Then you would like to have me go to school,’ said Sue; ‘and I can’t.’

“‘And if you could I shouldn’t have the pleasure of teaching you myself,’ said the cobbler. ‘I can bear that.’

“‘But then I can’t learn so many things,’ said Sue.

“‘Of one kind you can’t, and of another kind you can,’ said her father. ‘I don’t believe there’s a school-girl in Beachhead that can broil a blue fish as you can.’

“‘O father!—but then you shewed me how.’

“‘Do you think broiling blue fish comes by nature?’ said the cobbler. ‘I can tell you there are many people that can’t learn it at all. And that’s only one of your accomplishments.’

“‘O father!’ said Sue again, smiling a little.

“‘You can nurse a sick mother, and mend a hole in your father’s coat, and put up a room, and make a bed, with anybody.’

“‘Still, father, you’d like to have me go?’

“‘Yes, I would,’ said the cobbler. ‘Maybe I shall never be sorry, by and by, that I couldn’t.’

“‘And then, father,’ said Sue, ‘you can’t get work enough.’

“‘Yes!’ said the cobbler. ‘If I could do that, it would be all smooth. But God could give it to me if it pleased him, and if it don’t please him there must be some reason; can’t we trust him and wait?’

“Sue looked up again, not so brightly as once before; meekly, and rather tearfully.

“‘And then I must leave you to-morrow,’ said her father, kissing her brow;—‘that seems just now the worst of all.’

“‘Maybe you’ll come back again, father,’ said Sue.

“‘I am afraid I shall not—till this trial is over.’

“‘It’s a disagreeable business; isn’t it, father?’

“‘Very disagreeable—as ugly as can be to look at.’

“They were silent awhile.

“‘Maybe there’ll some good come of it, somehow, after all,’ said Sue, in her twilight voice.

“‘Good will be the end of it,’ said the cobbler. ‘There’s a kind hand doing it, and an almighty arm upholding us in it; we shall not be utterly cast down: so we must bear to be poor, and to be sick, and to be separated; and just leave it all with God.’

“‘Father, it’s pleasant to do that,’ said Sue; but you could know by the tone of her words that she was crying a little.

“‘Why, darling, if we are poor, and sick, and in trouble, we have our dear Saviour, and we know that the Lord is our God. We are not poor people,—not we. ‘Having nothing, and yet possessing all things.’ Who would we change with, Sue?’

“She had to wait a little while before she spoke, but then she said,—

“‘I wouldn’t change with anybody.’

“‘No more would I,’ said the cobbler, giving her another kiss.

“And so they went to bed, a couple of very rich poor people.

“But the house looked poor the next day; empty and cold. The cobbler was off betimes; the little breakfast-fire died out; dust lay on the counter; the tools and the unfinished work were here and there; the wind slipped in and slipped out again; and nothing else paid us a visit, except Sue, who once or twice looked in and looked round, as if to see whether her father were there. Once she came into the room and stood a few minutes, with her little brown head and quiet grave face, looking at the ashes in the fire-place, and the neglected work, and her father’s chair, with a wistful sort of eye. It said, or seemed to say, that however she felt last night, she would be very glad to-day if they were not poor, nor sick, nor separated. She looked pale and weary, too; but she did not stay long to rest or think. Her feet could be heard now and then up-stairs. The cobbler did not come home; the night darkened upon just such an afternoon as the morning had been.

“The next day began in the same manner. Towards noon, however, the outer door opened, and in came a puff of fresh cold air, and another visiter, who looked fresh, but not cold at all. It was a boy about thirteen or fourteen; healthy, ruddy, bright-eyed, well-dressed, and exceeding neat in his dress. He came in like one familiar with the place, and took note of all the unusual tokens about, as if he knew well what was usual and what was unusual. He looked at the cold chimney and scattered work; he went to the foot of the stairs and stood listening a moment; and then coming away from there, he loitered about the room, now going to the window and now to the chimney, evidently waiting. He had to wait a good while, but he waited. At last he had what he wanted; for, tired with being up-stairs, or wanting to gather some news from the outer world, Sue slowly came down the stairs and shewed her little face at the stairway door. And almost before it had time to change, the newcomer had called out,—

“‘Sue!’—

“And with an unknown light breaking all over her face, Sue exclaimed, joyously, ‘Roswald!—’ and springing across to him, laid her sweet lips to his with right good will.

“‘O you’ve got back!’ said Sue, with a gladsomeness it did, or would have done, any one’s heart good to hear.

“‘Here I am. Haven’t I been a long while away?’

“‘O so long!’ said Sue.

“‘But what’s the matter here, Sue? what’s become of you all?’

“‘Why mother’s sick, you know,—she hasn’t got well yet; and father’s away.’