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perhaps a trifle harder to follow for one in my
circumstances,” I answered, this time coldly.
She turned right to me. “I don’t quite see what is the
trouble with you young folks, anyway. Seems to me you
don’t have the least bit of either courage or faith. You
just mind me now and go back to school, and you will
see; somehow you will be able to stay. The Lord never
forsakes those who believe in Him.”
“Perhaps,” was my only answer. She seemed not to
notice it. She was rocking a little faster and nodded
her head deeply as all old folks do when meditating
profoundly.
"It is peculiar,” she began, talking more to herself
than to me, “when we are young we are so brimful of
bright hopes. We dream of doing great things, of
conquering the world. — After only a few hard knocks we
lie by the wayside, weary, disgusted, hopeless. We take
a new start. Now the world is all wrong, and we — we
are going to change it. We are destined to do the great
thing. Ahead we dash. After a few rods we are again
in the ditch, faint and cheerless. This time perhaps a
little muddy. The world goes on just the same. But the
years roll by. We grow older — hm, hm! As we pass
along, we gather scraps of wisdom, something from
thistles and thorns: then again from the mustard, or from
the roses and the lilies growing by the wayside.
Wisdom must be gathered from both good and bad — hm, hm!
But as our stock of wisdom becomes larger, our sight
grows clearer. Yes, clearer, (there she nodded her head
as one who is absolutely certain) and we see that the
purpose of our lives was not to conquer the world, but
so to live, that we might put meaning into our lives —
to get our lives into harmony with the will of the Lord.
Yes. That’s it.” Here she nodded decisively again.
Listening to her soliloquy, my bad mood passed away.
I thought she was handing out the genuine article all
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