Dear! Why has not some one come with the news before? Surely she would
have listened during these long, sad years. Well, they made the way
plain. Neither was it a difficult thing to do. The woman was weary and
travel-stained and afraid, and longed for nothing so much as a place of
refuge. She knew that she was a sinner; she knew that she was, and had
been for many a year, powerless to help herself. Why should she not hail
with joy the story of a great and willing Helper?
"Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden." She opened her
eyes with a gleam of eagerness to hear the words. "Weary?"' Yes, indeed!
"Heavy laden?" Who more so? If the call was not for her, whom
_could_ it mean? What else? Why, what, but the glorious old story,
"I will give you rest?" What wonder that she closed her eyes and smiled!
What wonder that the first words after that were: "I'll come; show me
how." And He showed her how.
"Dirk," the sister said, when the mother had gone the last and only
restful journey of her life, "Dirk, _she_ went to heaven; and I'm
going. I've been wanting to tell you for more than a week, but I didn't
know how. _He_ asked me to, and I'm going. Now _you_ must.
'Cause we never had a good time here, and she'll kind of expect it in
heaven, and be looking out for you; she always looked out for you,
Dirk.
Pages:
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311