Trust in God, or, Jenny's trials


Material Information

Trust in God, or, Jenny's trials
Series Title:
Cousin Kate's library
Jenny's trials
Physical Description:
63 p., 1 leaf of plates : ill. ; 16 cm.
Bell, Catherine D ( Catherine Douglas ), d. 1861
Thomas Nelson & Sons ( Publisher )
T. Nelson and Sons
Place of Publication:
London (Paternoster Row) ;
New York
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Theft -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- 1879   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1879
Juvenile literature   ( rbgenr )
fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Scotland -- Edinburgh
United States -- New York -- New York


Statement of Responsibility:
by Cousin Kate, the late C.D. Bell.
General Note:
Imprint also notes publisher's location in Edinburgh.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 001582753
oclc - 23057697
notis - AHK6681
System ID:

Full Text


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"OW, mother, what must be
done at last is best done at
first. So kiss her and let
her go, or we'll be late for
the coach," said John Carter,
looking into the kitchen where his
mother stood, with her sobbing grand-
child in her arms.
The old woman stooped and gave
the girl a long, earnest kiss.
".The Lord bless thee, and keep
thee. The Lord make his face shine
upon thee, and be gracious to thee.
The Lord lift up his countenance

upon thee, and give thee peace," she
said. "And, Jenny, my dear lamb,
mind my words. I think that the
Lord has made ye one of his own
children. Oh, mind that ye trust in
him with all your heart! He may
see best to bring you into sorrow and
suffering, but mind ye that he'll never
bring ye into sin. And however sore
ye may be tempted, mind that the
strength of the Almighty is on your
side, if ye keep in the right road.
Mind that, mind that;" and kissing
her again repeatedly, she pushed her
gently towards the door, and turned
Jenny went out of the kitchen, and
out of the house, sobbing aloud as she
went. Her uncle waited for her at
the outer door, and when she came
out, he raised her little box on his
shoulder, and set off at a quick pace
down the hill without speaking.

Jenny followed him as best she
might, blinded with tears, and stum-
bling over the stones and ruts of the
rough road. When John saw that
she was fairly on her way, he stopped
till she came up to him, and gave her
his disengaged hand, and tried to
comfort her. Men like him, however,
seldom know how to comfort a child;
and when he spoke of all the fine
sights she should see on her journey,
Jenny's tears only flowed the faster,
as she recollected that each mile was
to take her further from her dear
grandmother. John's cottage was at
the bottom of the hill, before enter-
ing the wood, and his wife, a kind,
motherly woman, was waiting to bid
them good-bye, and to put into Jenny's
hand some biscuits and sweet cakes,
which she had made for her to eat on
the long journey before her. She
knew better than her husband what

was most likely to soothe Jenny's
grief; and the child's face did, indeed,
brighten as her aunt said,-
"And oh, Jenny, woman, won't ye
be glad to see yer father again Ye
love him dearly, I know."
Yes, Jenny did love her father
dearly, and that she was going to him
was the only thing that at all recon-
ciled her to leaving her grandmother.
Jenny's mother died when her little
girl was only three years old; and as
William Carter had no female relative
to live with him, and take care of his
child, he had brought her to his
mother, with whom Jenny had lived
ever since. Old Mrs. Carter was an
uncommon woman, greatly superior
to the generality of women of her rank
and age. Her feelings were singularly
warm and true, her judgment clear
and sound; and in real, living godli-
ness, perhaps, few people were equal to

her. Her God and Saviour was con-
stantly before her mind. She lived
in his presence, delighting herself in
communion with him, and ordering
her whole life and conversation by
his Word. By such a grandmother
Jenny had been brought up with the
utmost tenderness and unselfish love,.
and had been carefully trained in the
knowledge and fear of God. The
Lord had blessed the old woman's
earnest, faithful efforts. He had
taught Jenny by his own Spirit, and
had given her a new heart to love
himself, and to seek his ways with all
her soul. A very happy childhood
had Jenny's been in her grandmother's
pretty, pleasant home, and under her
grandmother's loving care and guid-
ance. Twice every year her father
had paid them a visit, and the part-
ings from him had hitherto been the
only real grief the child had known.

Some months before my story opens,
William Carter had married again;
and now that there was a woman in
the house, he desired to have his
child with him. His mother felt the
reasonableness and rightness of the
wish, and could not oppose Jenny's
going. But her heart was heavy at
parting with her darling, and deeply
anxious for that darling's welfare.
She knew nothing about her son's
new wife; and of her son himself she
knew that, though good, kind, and
upright in all his ways, he had not
given his heart to the Lord-it was
not his first and greatest care that he
and his should serve the Lord. She
could not tell her doubts and fears to
the child-could not say anything
that might shake Jenny's reverence
and love for her father. She could
only impress more deeply upon her
heart the duty of taking earnest heed

to all her ways, of keeping her heart
with all diligence. And this she had
done faithfully, earnestly, prayerfully.
"I hope I may be sure that she is
the Lord's child," she said, as she
watched her son and grandchild down
the hill; "and to the Lord do I trust
her. He will be more to her than I
could be, and he will never forsake
Jenny's journey was a fatiguing
one. She had to walk about two
miles and a half to the roadside inn,
where she met the coach which was
to take her the rest of the way, and
where she parted from her uncle. It
was still early morning when the
coach started, and she did not reach
the village near which her father
lived until quite night. She was by
that time sorely wearied, both in
body and mind. But it was an in-
expressible relief to see her father's

good, kind face looking out for her,
to hear his pleasant voice welcoming
her, and to feel the affectionate pres-
sure of his arms, as he lifted her
down. They had some little distance
to walk, for William Carter lived out
of the village; but with her father's
kind arm to lean upon, the walk in
the cool night air was only a refresh-
ment to Jenny. It was so pleasant
to her to listen to her father's fond
expressions of happiness at having
his lassie once more with him, to
answer his questions about her jour-
ney, and about all the friends she
had left, and to feel at every word
that he was the very father whom
she had always so dearly loved-to
lose the kind of shyness with which
she had been thinking of him, as if
his marriage must have changed him,
as if he no longer belonged so much
to herself as before. The night was

quite dark, but as they turned the
last corner, a stream of warm, cheer-
ful light was seen on the road a little
before them.
"Ah," said William Carter, in a
pleased tone, "mother has set the
door open that the light may wel-
come us. And there," he added, as
a dark shadow fell upon the light,
"there she is herself looking out for
Again the shy feeling came over
Jenny, but her father led her quickly
forward. A pleasant voice cried,-
"Is that you, William ? Has Jenny
come ?" and, in another instant, Jenny
felt herself kindly pressed in stranger
arms, and a hearty kiss on her fore-
head, and her new mother led her
into the kitchen, where a bright fire
was burning, making everything look
cheerful and pleasant. Mrs. Carter
placed Jenny in an easy-chair by the

fire, and busied herself in taking off
her bonnet and cloak in the kindest
manner imaginable.
At first Jenny could only sit still
and suffer her mother to do as she
liked with her, for she was confused
by the sudden change from darkness
to light, and giddy from fatigue and
the long journey. But when Mrs.
Carter had left her to get supper
ready, she was able to look round a
little, and try if she could recollect
the house, which she had not seen for
eleven years. Her father seemed to
guess her thoughts.
"Ah, it isn't the same, my lass,"
he said, with a little sigh. "Mother
thought the old place too narrow, and
never rested till I had taken down
the wall, and brought in the little
room where we used to sleep."
"And so it was too narrow," Mrs.
Carter said briskly, as she came in

from a small, light scullery at the
back. "A body hadn't room to turn
round in the old place. And where
was the use of having the good, large
room up-stairs standing empty in
state, while we were stuffed into that
little hole that you called your bed-
Whatever the old place had been,
the present kitchen was a large, hand-
some room, and beautifully clean and
neat. It bore few signs of being'
used as a kitchen. The best china
was, indeed, displayed in all its glory
on the shelves, but the commoner
crockery in daily use, and all the
cooking utensils, were put out of
sight in the scullery. Jenny thought
her mother's kitchen was a very grand
place; but she missed the bright pots
and pans, scoured until they shone
like silver, which had always seemed
to her to give so much cheerfulness

and pleasantness to her old home
with her grandmother. She thought
less about the room, however, than
about its inmates. Her mother was
more to her than the kitchen could
be; and whenever she could do so
unobserved, she cast curious, inquiring
glances upon that mother's face and
figure. The result was satisfactory.
Mrs. Carter was a very nice-looking
woman, with a cheerful, pleasant, and,
at the same, clever countenance, and
a-light, active figure. She moved
briskly about her work, as if she al-
ways knew exactly what she meant
to do; and was so clean and neat,
so bright and cheerful-looking, that
Jenny felt she added greatly to the
pleasant look of her new home. A
good supper was soon set upon the
table, and Jenny, placed between her
father and mother, was as kindly at-
tended to as heart could wish. Al-

though very much tired, and still
sore at heart, when she thought of
the many miles which divided her
from her grandmother, yet it was
with much thankfulness to God, with
much hope of happiness, that she lay
down to rest that night.
The next morning her new life
began in earnest. She was rested
and refreshed by a good night's sleep,
and able to take an active share in
the household work. Old Mrs. Carter
had taken great pains to teach her
little granddaughter to make herself
useful, and Jenny was able to give her
mother more assistance in all her
work than most girls of her age could
have done, and earned for herself a
great deal of praise and of hearty
liking. It was not very easy to win
praise from Mrs. Carter. She was
herself so very clever and particular
in everything she did, and had so

little the habit of making excuses for
people slower or less clever than her-
self, that few girls of Jenny's age
could have satisfied her. Jenny and
she got on excellently; and although
Jenny soon found out that Mrs.
Carter's temper was quick, and her
rule very imperious, yet, as Jenny
was both by nature and habit docile
and gentle, as well as active, there
were very few quarrels, or causes of
quarrel, between them.
Mrs. Carter had been married be-
fore, and had a little boy about five
years old, a stirring, mischievous little
fellow, clever and quick-tempered like
his mother, who gave Jenny a great
deal of trouble, but of whom she was
so fond, that she counted it among
the pleasantnesses of her new life to
have him for a companion, to look
after and take care of.
Jenny's new life was, indeed, in

every way a very busy one, and she liked
it the better on that account. When
her grandmother heard how all day
and every day was passed by her dar-
ling girl, she was not quite satisfied,
for she thought that Jenny ought to
have been kept at school for a year
or two longer. But Jenny was one
of those girls who like work much
better than school; and as she could
read and write perfectly well, and cast
up accounts very tolerably, she thought
it no hardship to spend more time over
the washing-tub, or in cleaning the
house, than over her books. Even to
herself she never thought of complain-
ing on account of the hard work re-
quired of her, or of the amount of
trouble and pains it cost her to give
satisfaction to her very particular 0
mother. Nor, although she some-
times felt it keenly, did she murmur
over the absence of that gentleness

and tenderness to which she had been
accustomed in her grandmother's.
She was a cheerful-hearted girl, who
could make the best of everything,
and sensible enough to know that she
could not expect to find every one
alike, and that she ought to be well
content and grateful for that real kind-
ness and affection which she received
from her step-mother, hasty and rough
as her manner sometimes was.
But there was one thing to which
Jenny could not reconcile herself, and
that was the absence of all religion in
the daily life of her new home. Mr.
and Mrs. Carter attended church once
every Sabbath, and made no objection
to Jenny's going twice, nor to her at-
tending the clergyman's Bible-class on
the Wednesday evenings; but no
other token did they give that they
knew of or acknowledged the exist-
ence of the God who made them, and

who demanded from them love, rever-
ence, and obedience. On the first night
Jenny was so worn out with fatigue,
and so stupified with sleepiness, that
she did not remark the want of family
worship; and even the next morning,
when the recollection flashed through
her mind, she was quite satisfied with
the supposition that her father and
mother had thought that she was too
weary and sleepy to be able to join
their devotions. But when she saw
the family sit down to breakfast, with-
out even asking a blessing upon their
food, and her father leave the house
the moment he rose from the table,
her surprise and dismay were very
great. She had been so accustomed
to her grandmother and Uncle John
looking upon family prayers as a ne-
cessary part of the day's work, that
she could not believe this omission
could arise from anything except mere

forgetfulness at the moment; and,
after waiting a minute, expecting that
her father would recollect and return,
or that her mother would recall and
remind him, she resolved to do so her-
self. She ran after him, plucked him
by the coat, and said softly,-
"Father, have not you forgotten ?
We have not had family worship."
He started and coloured a little,
and after a moment's pause, kissing
her, and saying with some confusion,
and, as she thought, sadness of man-
ner,-" Ah, Jenny darling, we are not
like grandmother. We don't think
much about these things here. More's
the pity;" he turned away and walked
on, nor could she ever afterwards
get more from him upon the sub-
The first surprise of this discovery
of her parents' disregard of God's wor-
ship, of course, wore off in time; but

time only increased the sorrow it gave
her. Her grandmother had accus-
tomed her to refer everything to God,
to take every joy or sorrow from him,
and to perform every little duty as in
his sight, and to please him. It was
very grievous to live with those who
had no thought of God, who never
seemed, from morning to night, to re-
collect that there was a God whom
they were bound to love and serve;
and this was all the more grievous to
her, that she really loved both father
and mother very dearly, and was most
earnestly grateful to them for their
love and kindness to her. At first
she feared that the ungodliness of the
household might have an evil influence
upon her own heart. She knew her-
self to be an ignorant child, who
needed some one to teach her what
was right, and to remind her to keep
near to God; and she looked forward

with dread to spending her life among
those who did not care whether she
loved God, and who would never speak
of him to her, or watch over her as
her grandmother had done, to see that
she did not forget him, or turn aside
from his ways. But this fear did not
last long. She recollected that her
grandmother had told her to trust in
the Lord with all her heart, at all
times, in all circumstances, and that
she had said that God would never
bring her into sin; and the recollec-
tion gave her the greatest comfort.
It may be God's will that I should
have no one to speak to about him-
self," she thought; "but it can never
be his will that I should forget him,
or be careless about him; and if he
gives me no one else to help me, to
keep me right, he will do it himself
by his blessed Spirit." And so, pray-
ing to him continually for guidance

and teaching, trusting to him entirely
and alone, the Lord kept her heart
warm and full of love; he gave her a
more blessed sense of his presence and
blessing than she had ever known be-
fore, and made her more than ever
anxious to please him in every act of
her life-more than ever afraid of
sinning against him.
That her father and mother and
little Johnnie should be brought to
know and love God was her daily
prayer, her constant desire. She did
not venture to say much to Mrs. Car-
ter, but to her father she did now and
then speak timidly and tearfully, tell-
ing him how happy religion made both
herself and her dear grandmother:
always she received the same answer,
" We are not like grandmother.
More's the pity ;" and although he
was constantly ready to listen to her
with the utmost kindness, she did not

feel that she could do much for him.
For Johnnie she had more hopes.
Although such a stirring, active little
fellow, he liked dearly to hear stories,
and was always ready to listen to any-
thing Jenny chose to tell him. She
tried to find at least one time every
day for speaking to him of Christ,
and of his love for sinners; and, as
she took great pains to make her little
lessons simple and interesting, Johnnie
generally listened to them with atten-
tion and pleasure. She was not sure
that his mother quite liked her teach-
ing the little boy these things. Some-
times she watched them with a kind
of dissatisfied expression; and some-
times, when angry, she made very
bitter speeches of and to Jenny about
people who pretended to be very reli-
gious, and thought themselves better
than their neighbours. But Johnnie
was such a troublesome little object,

and so apt to get into mischief, that
his mother felt really little inclined to
oppose any amusement or teaching
which could keep him quiet for ever so
short a time of the day; and so long
as she did not forbid her to teach
Johnnie, Jenny bore all her sneers
and outbursts of impatience with
beautiful patience and good temper.
Her heart was set upon doing all she
could to bring her dear little brother
to know and love the Lord, and she
was willing to suffer far more than
she was ever called upon to bear for
that end.
Thus the spring, summer, and
autumn passed quietly away. To
Jenny, except for the grief of her
father's disregard of his God, they
passed very happily. In the end of
autumn, a baby girl was born to the
house. Jenny's interest and delight
in her new sister were intense, and

every spare minute was given to nurs-
ing her. She was so careful, and
handled the little thing so tenderly,
that even Mrs. Carter, although
anxious and fidgety enough about
the baby, as about everything else,
was satisfied, and when it was not in
her own arms, was well pleased to see
it in Jenny's. The child seemed,
indeed, a new tie between Jenny and
her mother; and for the first few
weeks after its birth everything
seemed brighter and happier than
When the baby was about four
weeks old, however, a cloud arose,
which threatened to bring sore grief
upon poor Jenny; and thus it was:
The great proprietor of the neighbour-
hood was Sir John Ogilvie. Mrs.
Carter had been housemaid in his
family before her first marriage, and
had been greatly prized as a clever,

active, thoroughly good servant. Upon
her return to the neighbourhood as
Mrs. Carter, Lady Ogilvie and her
daughters had shown her a great deal
of kindness and attention; and as the
housekeeper, and several other of the
servants then at the Hall, had been
there when she was, there was a great
deal of intercourse between them.
The servants came and went fre-
quently to the cottage. Mrs. Carter
paid them visits at the Hall; and very
often, when they were more than
usually busy, gave them some hours'
assistance in their work for old ac-
quaintance' sake. One afternoon Mrs.
Brown, the housekeeper, called to see
Mrs. Carter and her baby; and after
admiring the child, she said, laughingly,
that she did not much rejoice in its
existence just then, as they should
have liked very much to have had
Mrs. Carter's help in the next day's

washing. The farmer's wife at the
home farm had asked all the servants
to a tea-drinking in the end of the
week, and Mrs. Brown was anxious
that they should get quickly on with
their work, so as to allow as many as
possible to go.
I cannot leave baby, to be sure,"
said Mrs. Carter; "but if Jenny could
be of any use, I am sure she would be
glad to help you; and you can't think
what a clever, handy girl she is."
Jenny, proud of her mother's
praises, and of being thought of use,
was very glad to promise to do what
she could, and next morning early
made her appearance at the Hall.
The day was a very pleasant one to
her. The servants made a great deal
of her-praised her only too highly,
she thought, for her cleverness, will-
ingness, and industry; and when she
came away at night, Mrs. Brown gave

her a large basket, heavily laden with
dainties of different kinds for her
mother and Johnnie. Jenny was
greatly pleased, and went into the
cottage with her present in high
See what a great roll of fresh but-
ter !" she cried triumphantly, as she
displayed her treasures ; and you
like fresh butter so much, mother, and
grudge to buy it !"
Grudge I should think so," Mrs.
Carter said, laughing, as she carried
off the butter to put it in a cool place
in the scullery. Jenny followed her.
"Wasn't it kind of Lady Ogilvie
to bid Mrs. Brown give it me! I
daresay she thought you might like
such things just .now, when you are
not quite strong. I met Lady Ogilvie
in the avenue, and I'd have made bold
to thank her if she had spoken to me;
but she did not see me."

"4And just as well," Mrs. Carter
cried, with a sudden change of tone,
and turning round upon Jenny.
"Thank her, indeed! Why, child,
you don't suppose Lady Ogilvie
knows anything of my getting these
things ?"
"Does not know!" Jenny re-
peated, utterly bewildered. "Why,
then, how can Mrs. Brown give them
to you ?"
She can't pay a person like me in
money," Mrs. Carter said, with a toss
of her head ; and she gives me little
things like these just in a compliment
like. You don't think that I'd go
slaving myself all day for them for
nothing ?"
Jenny was silent for a minute,
utterly stupified with the shock of
such a disclosure.
"But, mother," she cried at last,
" it is not honest. These are not Mrs.

Brown's things to give. It is only
just stealing."
"Stealing, indeed 1" Mrs. Carter
interrupted, her face flushing scarlet
with anger; "and, pray, what right
has a little chit like you to use such
words to Mrs. Brown? You'll be
charging me with stealing next, for
taking what is given me !"
In her heart Jenny had already
brought the charge; and her only
answer was a sorrowful, wistful look,
which seemed to offend her mother
more than words could have done.
Very angrily she bade Jenny go up-
stairs and take off her bonnet, adding,
with great heat,-
And you mind your own business,
and leave your betters to mind theirs
without your help."
Jenny obeyed in silence, utterly
cast down, and grieved to the heart
at what had occurred. She felt as if

part of the guilt rested on herself, in
that she had brought away the goods;
and could get no peace until she had
knelt down beside her little bed, and
spread out the whole matter before
God. She asked him to teach her
what she ought to do, and with per-
fect trust that he would do so, could
leave the matter with him.
Her mother said no more about
the business, but for some days she
was cold and distant in her manner
towards Jenny; and, with the feel-
ing that she was angry with her,
joined to the fear of being told to go
to the Hall again, the child was very
unhappy. Her father was from home
at the time. He was a very clever
carpenter, and Sir John Ogilvie had
taken him to his other estate in a dis-
tant county, to superintend some al-
terations making in the house. Jenny
had to bear all her mother's little

crossnesses and unkindnesses alone;
and had she not been sustained by
the sense of God's presence and sym-
pathy, her heart must have sunk under
a trial so new to her. But she had
so well learned the lesson of taking
every sorrow as from the hands of a
loving Father, that she could not be
quite cast down. She kept constantly
reminding herself that he knew every
thing, great and small, that happened
to her, and would most certainly order
all things aright; and when greatly
dreading the arrival of any of the ser-
vants to ask for her help, and in
doubts as to what she ought to do, she
encouraged herself with the thought
that the Lord would see to this also
-would show her what was right,
and help her to do it. It must ever
be God's will to keep her from sin-
of that she was sure, and in that lay
her comfort. Then, after a week or

so, Jenny's great gentleness, meek-
ness, and care to please, seemed to
work upon her mother's feelings.
She began to forget the cause of
quarrel, and to be nearlyas kind as
she had been before; and Jenny
looked upon this pleasant change as a
special gift from her loving God in
heaven, and rejoiced in it accordingly
with all her heart.
This had not, however, lasted many
days, before what Jenny so dreaded
came to pass. One afternoon, when
she came home from an errand to the
village, Mrs. Carter told her that
Mrs. Brown had been down to ask
her to go the day after the next to
help in making some apple-ginger,
and other preserves, and that she had
promised that she. should go. Jenny
said nothing at the time, for Johnnie
was in the room; and, besides, she
wished to put the case before the

Lord, and ask for counsel and strength
from him, before she made up her
mind, or told her mother what she
meant to do. But in the evening,
when she and Mrs. Carter were alone,
after an earnest prayer to God for
help, she, with great modesty, but
great firmness, told her mother that
she should be glad to help Mrs. Brown
whenever she wished her to do so, but
that if Mrs. Brown offered to give her
anything to bring home, she should
certainly refuse to bring it.
Now, Mrs. Carter did not really
set any great value upon the dainties
she received from the Hall; but she
could not bear contradiction, particu-
larly not from Jenny, who had hitherto
been so submissive. Her conscience
telling her that Jenny was right and
she wrong only made her more angry;
and working herself by degrees into a
perfect fury, as she found that she

could not shake the girl's resolution, she
in the end told her that she must either
do as she bade her, or leave her house.
I'm going to my brother's to-
morrow," she ended with saying, as
she rose to leave the room, "and I
meant to take you with me. He is
to send a cart for us, and I thought
it would be a grand ploy for you.
But now that you have shown your-
self such an ungrateful, wicked, dis-
obedient child, you shall stay at home
by yourself; and mark my words: If
you are not ready to-morrow night
when I come home to promise to
obey me, out of my house you go
that minute. I'll keep no sinful, dis-
obedient children here, to set my boy
a bad example, and teach him to
despise his parents. So you either
do as I bid you, or go to your
precious grandmother, or to your
father, as you like."

She spoke in a passion, hardly
knowing what she said, and had no
intention of fulfilling her threat, what-
ever Jenny might do. But poor
Jenny, supposing her to be thor-
oughly in earnest, believed that her
only choice lay between doing what
she knew to be wrong and being
turned out of doors. She did not
hesitate, for she felt that she could
not sin against God. But her heart
was very sore at the thought of part-
ing from her mother in anger; of
leaving the children, and, above all,
of being sent away without seeing her
father again-without knowing when
she might ever see him. He might
be angry, too, and never wish to have
her back; and what should she do,
how should she bear it, if he or her
mother never forgave her-never
loved her again as they had done?
At first this sorrow completely

filled her heart, and left no room for
thoughts about her plans for the long
journey before her. But when she
had lightened her load of grief by
telling it all to her God-when she
had so far quieted herself as to be
able to go to bed, and to rest herself
again upon the sense of God's pres-
ence, love, and care, she began to
think of what she must do, and how
she was to do it. The long, long
journey to her grandmother's must be
made on foot, for she had no money,
and she trembled as she asked herself
where or how she should get food and
lodging during the many days and
nights which must pass before she
could reach her old home.
"But I am to trust in the Lord
with all my heart," she said, "and he
will provide;" and quieting herself
again with the thought, she fell

She rose very early, and went
down-stairs to get breakfast ready for
her mother and the children before
they started on their day's excursion.
She took more pains than usual to
put everything exactly right; and
when Mrs. Carter came down, her
anger more than half gone already,
she felt touched to the heart by
Jenny's attention, and by her. meek,
submissive manner. She did not
speak to her, hardly even looked at
her, but the old liking was returning.
Her anger kept melting fast away;
and at the last moment, when they
were driving off, she looked quickly
back to give the poor girl a kindly
look and smile as of old. Jenny did
not see it; she had turned into the
house to indulge in a good fit of
She soon dried her tears, for she
had little time to waste. Mrs. Carter

had said that she should turn her out
the moment she came home; and as
Jenny felt sure that she ought not to
change her resolution, she believed it
would be best to go away at once,
and spare Mrs. Carter the pain of
bidding her go. She put the house
into beautiful order, made up the fire
to last all day, and laid out the supper
all ready for them when they should
come home, and then set about her
own preparations. She knew she
could not carry a large bundle, soshe
chose out only one suit of clothes, and
tied them up with her Bible in one of
her aprons. Mrs. Carter had set
aside a good, comfortable dinner and
supper for Jenny, and this she sup-
posed she had a right to take with
her. But a half-crown which she
had earned by making some habit-
shirts for the young ladies at the
Hall, and which her mother had

meant she should have to spend as
she liked, she could not take, because
it had never been exactly given to
her. She wrapped it up in a piece of
paper, and wrote in the inside,-
"DEAR MOTHER,-Forgive me for going away.
I can't do what you wish; and I have gone to
grandmother's at once, that you may not have
the pain of sending me away. Ever your loving
daughter, JENNY CARTER."

She placed the little parcel where it
should catch Mrs. Carter's eye; and
with another look to see that all was
right, she went sorrowfully out of the
house. She locked the door, hid the
key where it was always put when
they happened to be all out, and set
out on her journey.
She took a back path to avoid the
people of the village, and made her
way to the great north road, which
she knew was the right direction to
her grandmother's. Poor child! she

knew very little about her road; but
she remembered the names of a few
of the towns through which she had
passed in coming, and she hoped to
be able to ask the way to them. The
day was bright, clear, and cool, and,
until the afternoon, she got on very
briskly, with an hour's rest for dinner
about mid-day. As she had been
accustomed to run about all day long
in her work, she had fancied that she
should be able to walk on until dark,
when she hoped to find a cart-shed or
hay-rick under whose shelter' she
might pass the night. But to walk
straight on on a hard road is much
more fatiguing than to go about
household work; and the sun was
still far from setting when Jenny
found her limbs ache so much, her
feet so hot and heavy, that she was
forced to admit that she could not go
miLch further. She sat down to

think what she should do. The spot
was wild and dreary. For a long
way, both before and behind, the
road stretched straight on without a
turn, and there was no house within
sight. The weather had changed.
Gray clouds hid the sun, and a cold
wind blew round her. As she sat
trembling with cold, faint with weari-
ness, she thought with terror of pass-
ing the night out in the open air; and
this would be only the first night of
many. A mile-stone near her told
her that she had got only fourteen
miles on her road. She did not know
the exact distance she had to travel;
but the coach with its four horses had
taken more than twelve hours to come,
and she remembered that the coach-
man had said they never went less
than ten miles an hour. It did not
require much calculation to find out
that many weary days and nights

were before her, and she trembled at
the thought.
"But I am to trust in the Lord
with all my heart," she said aloud.
"I am doing the thing that is right,
and the Lord will be my Shepherd;
I shall never want."
"Right, my little maid,' cried a
cheery voice behind her. She started,
and looked round. She had not ob-
served that on the other side of the
wall against which she sat, a foot-path
led through the fields. Neither had
she, being busy with her own thoughts,
heard a step coming along this path,
until the passenger was so near as to
hear what she said. He was a tall,
elderly man, dressed like a farmer,
and with a very pleasant countenance.
He stepped over the wall, and stood
beside her.
"Right, my little maid," he said
again; "and why is it that you have


just now to put yourself in mind to
trust in the Lord with all your heart ?
Why are you here alone ? "
Jenny shyly explained that she had
to go to her grandmother's, far away,
and that there was no one to go with
her. The kind farmer saw that his
questions about her friends distressed
her, for Jenny was determined to tell
no one how her mother had treated
her; and well satisfied by the words
he had overheard that she was on no
wrong errand, he asked her no more
on that point. He asked where her
grandmother lived.
"At Hollow's Edge," said Jenny
innocently. But when she saw him
smile and shake his head, as if there
might be many a Hollow's Edge in
the world, she said, "Away beyond
- ," naming a town between thirty
and forty miles from her father's

Ah," he said heartily, "I can
take you ten miles on that road. My
gig is waiting for me at the inn, a
little bit further on, and I can take
you home, where my wife will give
you a good supper and a comfortable
bed, and ye can start in the morning
Jenny accepted his offer with grati-
tude earnest and deep to him, still
more earnest and deep to the God
who had sent him to help her. The
ten miles were quickly and easily got
over; and, as he had promised, a good
supper and a comfortable bed were
provided for her by his wife, as kind
and good as himself. In the morning
they gave her breakfast, and packed
up a goodly supply of bread and meat
for her dinner. The farmer walked a
little way with her to show her the
road, and, on parting, insisted on giv-
ing her half-a-crown to pay for her

bed that night. He was greatly
interested in the child, and would
have given her enough to take her
home by the coach, had he not sup-
posed that her grandmother's house
was only a little beyond the town she
had named, and that she should be
able to reach it by the next forenoon
at the furthest.
I cannot tell you all the adventures
Jenny met with, nor how many kind
friends God raised up for her. On
the third morning she came up with
a carrier's cart, which was going about
forty miles on her road. The carrier
offered to take her for a shilling; and
although that swallowed up a great
part of the half-crown, she was getting
so weary, that she thought the long
rest'would be well worth the shilling
to her. She had no reason to regret
her bargain. The carrier was a kind
man, and took as great a fancy to her

as the farmer and his wife had done.
He shared all his meals with her, so
that she had not to buy food for her-
self; and travelling all night in the
waggon, no money was spent for
lodging. When he found out how
poor she was, he wished not to take
her shilling; but Jenny's scrupulous
honesty could not be satisfied without
giving it to him; and he paid it back
by taking her to the house of a friend
-a good, pious old woman-who
lodged and fed the poor child that
Saturday night and all the Sabbath
free from charge.
On setting out again upon the Mon-
day, a sore misfortune befell her. She
mistook her road, went out of the right
way, and for many days wandered
about the country, not knowing where
she was. God raised up many kind
people to befriend her, and many a
night's lodging and many a meal was

freely given to her. But still, as day
passed after day, her small store of
money was slowly expended, and her
strength and power of walking melted
away with it-until at last, when she
found herself again in the right road,
and only sixteen miles from Hollow's
Edge, she had not a farthing left, and
was so weak, so weary, that it seemed
impossible she could ever walk so far.
Very slow and painful was her journey
this day, for her weakness was increas-
ing fast upon her, and it was almost
dark when she reached a farm-house
still eight miles from her home. Here
she supposed her difficulties were at
last over. The farmer and his wife
were old friends of her grandmother's.
She was sure they would welcome her
very kindly, take good care of her,
and send her home on the morrow.
But, alas! poor Jenny! sickness and
death had been busy in that house

since she last saw it. The father and
mother were dead, the family broken
up; and as no one had yet taken the
farm, the house was empty, the whole
place desolate.
Poor Jenny's heart gave way at
last, and she sat down on the steps of
the empty house, and cried as bitterly
as she had strength to cry. After a
little the fast-increasing darkness and
coldness warned her to rise and seek
some other shelter; and as she rose,
the old ground of comfort and strength
came back to her mind.
"I trust the Lord with all my
heart," she said; "he knows that I
have found no one here. He is beside
me, and he orders everything for the
As she thus strengthened her heart
in the Lord, creeping slowly and
wearily round the house, she came
upon a cart-shed, whose door stood

open, and going in, she found a large
bundle of hay in one corner. She
laid herself down upon it, and drew
some over her; and so weary was she,
that in the very act of thanking God
for the shelter and warmth he had
provided, she fell fast asleep.
She awoke next morning stiff and
sore in every limb; and still more
slowly, still more painfully, than on
the day before, did she again proceed
on her weary walk. The country was
very wild. There were few houses
by the roadside; and although now
so near home, not one person that she
knew did she meet with all day. A
scanty meal she got about mid-day
from a labouring man, who, pitying
her hungry looks, gave her as much
as he could spare from his own not
too plentiful dinner. Towards the
afternoon her troubles were greatly
increased by a snow-storm which came

on, accompanied by a strong, bitter
wind, against which the poor girl
could hardly make way at all. It
was-quite night when she got to the
inn where she and her Uncle John
had met the coach which took her
to her father's. The people at this
inn bore such a bad character that
Jenny had never hoped much from
them. But when she came up, such
loud, angry voices made themselves
heard through the half-open door,
that she was glad to step quietly past
without even looking in. An ostler
coming round from the stable looked
hard at her, and even called after her,
but she did not observe, did not heed
him, and went on and into the wood
which stretched in a nearly unbroken
line to the foot of Hollow's Edge.
The snow was more her enemy here
than before. It had drifted in among
the trees, and lay in some places so

deep that she could hardly wade
through it with her poor, weary feet;
and the wind roaring up the cross
passages, blew the snow round her in
such whirling, confusing eddies, that
she soon lost all distinct knowledge of
the direction in which she was going.
She now gave up the hope of reach-
ing home, and, utterly exhausted, lay
down upon the ground, careless where
she was, or how she should ever get
up again. A strange, creeping feeling
-ran through all her body, and an over-
powering sleepiness crept over her.
She believed that she was going to
But I am trusting in Thee, Lord,
with all my heart," she thought, smil-
ing in the comfort of thus resting
upon God. "Thou wilt either take
care of me here, or take care of me
"to heaven, and I'll see my own dear
mother there, if I can't see grannie

here. I wish that father and mother
had forgiven me first; but I trust
God for that too. It'll be all right
in the end."
Her eyes had closed, her senses were
nearly gone, when a loud shout partly
roused her. She half opened her eyes,
and saw a bright light coming down
the wood. Her mind was confused
and wandering, and she watched the
light with a kind of dreamy pleasure.
Nearer it came. It fell upon herself
as she lay on the snow. A voice she
knew cried with great tenderness,
"My Jenny! my darling!" and she
felt herself raised and pressed in kind,
strong arms. She fancied that she
must be dead, must be in heaven;
and murmuring feebly, "Is it you,
mother ? Oh, how good God is," her
head fell upon her father's shoulder,
and she became quite unconscious.
For days had her father and uncle

been seeking her all over the country.
Mrs. Carter had been in great alarm
when she came home and found
Jenny's little note. She went as
early as she could next morning with
it to her husband, willing to bear all
his anger, so only that Jenny could
be found. They went together to her
grandmother's, but, as we know, there
she was not. After some days of
seeking and inquiries all along the
road, William Carter had, the day
before, gone back to his own home to
see if there might be news of her
there, and finding none, had come
back by the coach, which had set him
down at the inn a few minutes after
Jenny had passed. Every one in the
neighbourhood knew that the child
was lost; and the ostler who had seen
her, at once told the father his idea
that it was she who had gone into the
wood a few minutes before. Her

bundle had fallen from her hand soon
after she had entered the wood; her
father had found it, and it had guided
him to where she lay upon the cold
snow, very near death.
"When Jenny awoke to conscious-
ness, she found herself upon a warm,
soft bed in her grandmother's kitchen,
her grandmother bending over her.
Where am I ? what has hap-
pened ?" she asked feebly. But her
grandmother would not suffer her to
speak. She put a cup of warm arrow-
root, with some wine in it, into her
hand, and bade her drink it. Jenny
obeyed. It tasted very good, and
sent a pleasant heat all over her body.
With a sigh of comfort, she stretched
her sore, weary limbs upon the soft,
warm bed, and closed her eyes when
her grandmother bade her do so; and
although she thought she heard strange
voices speaking about her, and a bustle

in the room, she was too weak to
wonder, too comfortable to care, and
presently fell fast asleep.
When next she awoke the room
was darkened, and the curtains were
drawn round her bed. Again she
began to wonder where she was. A
slight rustle beside her made her draw
back the curtain. To her extreme
surprise she saw her grandmother and
her mother sitting beside the fire, her
father close to her own bed. Instantly
the past flashed back upon her mind.
0 father," she cried piteously,
" are you angry with me ?"
Angry with you, my pet lamb I "
was all he could say, as he folded her
in his arms, and laid her head down
upon his shoulder. For a minute she
lay there perfectly happy in the as-
surance of his love, and thanking God
with all her heart that he had kept
her father from being angry. Then,

as she remembered that her mother
had only turned away her head, and
had not spoken, she said timidly,-
"And you, mother Please don't
be angry. I was very sorry, but I
could not do it."
Her mother turned round upon her
a face wet with tears, and with an ex-
pression of such deep humility and
sorrow, that Jenny's tender heart
ached for her.
"Oh, hush, Jenny, if ye wouldn't
break my heart," she cried passion-
ately. "God knows I never meant to
turn you out; but as it is, I can never
forgive myself, and he" (with a look
at her husband) "can never forgive
"Yes, he can-he does," said the
old woman, as she came forward and
laid her hand upon her son's shoulder.
He turned away his head, and did
not speak. His heart was yet bitter

against his wife. Jenny saw it, and
raised herself in bed.
0 father, father! she cried, "ye
are not angry with mother? Oh, ye
can't be angry when God has brought
us together again, and taken such care
of me. 0 father, don't anger the
Lord now when he has been so good;"
and the tears ran down her cheeks as
she repeated in her feeble, broken
voice, "Oh, don't anger the Lord,
father! 0 father, love her all the
same !" Her father could not resist
her. His heart was softened in that
moment of great joy, and he held out
his hand to his wife. All was for-
given, and by him the subject was
never opened again.
Jenny could not rise from her bed
for many days, but she had the kindest
and tenderest of nurses in her illness.
Her grandmother was devoted to her;
and her step-mother, softened, sub-

dued, so that Jenny hardly knew her
to be the same woman, seemed to live
only to serve and wait upon Jenny
and her grandmother.
0 dear grannie," cried Jenny one
day, when she and the old woman
were talking of all that had passed,
"what a joy it is to trust God with
all the heart! I trusted him to keep
me loving himself, when I had not
you to teach me; and he did it. I
trusted him to take care of me; and
he did it-all the long, weary way he
did it. I trusted him to take anger
out of dear father's and mother's heart;
and he did it. And now I am trust-
ing him to bring them to himself; and
I know he will do it."
She supposed that she and her
grandmother were alone; but young
Mrs. Carter sat nursing her baby
behind the bed; and the first time
Jenny's grandmother left her, her

mother came up, and bending down,
said in a trembling voice,-
"Jenny darling, the Lord will do
it. The Lord is doing it. Thy father
reads the Bible times and times on
end. And for me," tears running
down her cheeks, "how can I help
seeking the Lord, who took care of
you, and took the sin of murder off
my conscience ?"
I leave my little friends to imagine
how joyfully Jenny praised the Lord
who had made her trust him, and had
thus answered all her wishes.

I __,