“When,” said the boy, “will Edward come from the post-office? Is there nothing at all in the house, mamma, that I could eat?”
“Hush! Frank,” said his sister; “where's your generosity and your patience? Did we not all promise to think of papa and mamma before ourselves--yes, and of our poor Maria, too, who is so ill?”
“That is true,” replied the boy, “but when I promised that, I wasn't so hungry as I am now. But, still, if I had anything to eat, I would give the best part of it to papa or mamma, or Maria, if she could eat it--that is, after I had taken one mouthful for myself. Oh will Ned never come from the post-office?”
“Mamma,” said the sick girl, looking up into her mother's eyes, “I am sustained by one hope, and that is, that I will soon cease to be a burthen upon dear papa--my heartbroken papa and you. I am anxious to pass away to that blessed place where all tears shall be wiped from my eyes;” and as she spoke she raised herself a little, and quietly wiped one or two from them; and, she proceeded, “where the weary will be at rest. Alas! how little did we expect or imagine this great weight of suffering!”
“My darling child,” said her mother, kissing her pale cheek, and pressing her more tenderly to her bosom, “you have ever been more solicitous for the comfort and well-being of others than you have been for your own; yet, well and dearly as we love you, how can we grudge you to God? It was He who gave you to us--it is He who is taking you from us; and what can we say, but blessed be His name?”