It was a half-holiday. The children were gathered on the green and a
right merry time they were having.
"Come, girls and boys," called out Ned Graham, "let's play hunt the
squirrel."
All assented eagerly, and a large circle was formed with Ned Graham
for leader, because he was the largest.
"Come, Susie," said one of the boys, to a little girl who stood on one
side, and seemed to shrink from joining them.
"Oh, never mind _her_!" said Ned, with a little toss of his head,
"she's nobody, anyhow. Her father drinks."
A quick flush crept over the child's pale face as she heard the cruel,
thoughtless words.
She was very sensitive, and the arrow had touched her heart in its
tenderest place.
Her father _was_ a drunkard, she knew, but to be taunted with it
before so many was more than she could bear; and with great sobs
heaving from her bosom, and hot tears filling her eyes, she turned and
ran away from the playground.
Her mother was sitting by the window when she reached home, and the
tearful face of the little girl told that something had happened to
disturb her.
"What is the matter, Susie?" she asked, kindly.
"Oh mother," Susie said, with the tears dropping down her cheeks, as
she hid her face in her mother's lap, "Ned Graham said such a cruel
thing about me," and here the sobs choked her voice so that she could
hardly speak; "He said that I wasn't anybody, and that father drinks."
"My poor little girl," Mrs. Ellet said, very sadly. There were tears
in her eyes, too.
Such taunts as this were nothing new.
"Oh, mother," Susie said, as she lifted her face, wet with tears, from
her mother's lap, "I can't bear to have them say so, and just as if
_I_ had done something wicked. I wish father wouldn't drink! Do you
suppose he'll ever leave it off?"
"I hope so," Mrs. Ellet answered, as she kissed Susie's face where the
tears clung like drops of dew on a rose. "I pray that he may break off
the habit, and I can do nothing but pray, and leave the rest to God."
That night Mr. Ellet came home to supper, as usual. He was a
hard-working man, and a good neighbor. So everybody said, but he had
the habit of intemperance so firmly fixed upon him that everybody
thought he would end his days in the drunkard's grave. Susie kissed
him when he came through the gate, as she always did, but there was
something in her face that went to his heart--a look so sad, and full
of touching sorrow for one so young as she!
"What ails my little girl?" he asked as he patted her curly head.
"I can't tell you, father," she answered, slowly.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because it would make you feel bad." Susie replied.
"I guess not," he said, as they walked up to the door together. "What
is it, Susie?"
"Oh, father," and Susie burst into tears again as the memory of Ned
Graham's words came up freshly in her mind, "I wish you wouldn't drink
any more, for the boys and girls don't like to play with me, 'cause
you do."
Mr. Ellet made no reply. But something stirred in his heart that made
him ashamed of himself; ashamed that he was the cause of so much
sorrow and misery. After supper he took his hat, and Mrs. Ellet knew
only too well where he was going.
At first he had resolved to stay at home that evening, but the force
of habit was so strong that he could not resist, and he yielded,
promising himself that he would not drink more than once or twice.
Susie had left the table before he had finished his supper, and as he
passed the great clump of lilacs by the path, on his way to the gate,
he heard her voice and stopped to listen to what she was saying.
"Oh, good Jesus, please don't let father drink any more. Make him just
as he used to be when I was a baby, and then the boys and girls can't
call me a drunkard's child, or say such bad things about me. Please,
dear Jesus, for mother's sake and mine."
Susie's father listened to her simple prayer with a great lump
swelling in his throat.
And when it was ended he went up to her, and knelt down by her side,
and put his arm around her, oh, so lovingly!
"God in Heaven," he said, very solemnly, "I promise to-night, never to
touch another drop of liquor as long as I live. Give me strength to
keep my pledge, and help me to be a better man."
"Oh, father," Susie cried, her arms about his neck, and her head upon
his breast, "I'm _so_ glad! I shan't care about anything they say to
me now, for I know you won't be a drunkard any more."
"God helping me, I will be a _man_!" he answered, as, taking Susie by
the hand he went back into the house where his wife was sitting with
the old patient look of sorrow on her face.--the look that had become
so habitual.
I cannot tell you of the joy and thanksgiving that went up from that
hearthstone that night. I wish I could, but it was too deep a joy
which filled the hearts of Susie and her mother to be described.
Was not Susie's prayer answered?
There is never a day so dreary,
But God can make it bright.
And unto the soul that trusts him
He giveth songs in the night.
There is never a path so hidden,
But God will show the way,
If we seek the Spirit's guidance,
And patiently watch and pray.