“O mama, how I do love to watch a thunder storm,” said Emily to me one
evening in April, whilst she leant at the open window gazing at the
clouds, and listening to the awful peals which from time to time burst
from them. “It reminds me of that beautiful story of Samuel, I could
always say, ‘Speak, Lord, thy servant heareth.’--Don’t you think, mama,
it seems as if God really spoke to us? But you do not seem to enjoy
it;” added she, turning round; “you hide your eyes, and seem quite
sad.--Are you _frightened_, mama?”
“Not for myself, Emily; but I cannot forget that your papa is now
crossing the heath, and exposed to these awful flashes of lightning.”
“And _I_ did forget it!--How could I?” said Emily, changing colour,
and quitting her post at the window to place herself close by me with
her little hands on my lap, clasping one of mine closely between them.
Another flash!--She watched my countenance, but said nothing.--Another,
still more vivid! She raised herself on tiptoe, and whispered in my
ear, “But we have been anxious about papa often before, and yet he has
come home safe.--Does that comfort you, mama?”
“It ought, dear Emily; but O what a flash was that!” Emily let go
my hand, and darted into my dressing-room, where she remained a few
minutes; then returning with a bright cherubic smile, she took her
station by me again.
At that moment the whole room was illumined, but Emily did not this
time flinch or change colour, but she threw her little arms round my
neck, and said, “Mama, I am not frightened now, and perhaps you will
be bolder when I tell you what I have done. You do not know why I went
into your dressing-room: it was to kneel down and pray God and Jesus
Christ to let dear papa come home safe to us again; and if Jesus Christ
does suffer little children to come to him, (which you tell me may mean
by prayer,) surely it will be when they pray him to take care of their
own dear papas--the papas God gave them!--But hark! I hear a horse! It
is, it is papa, and he is come home safe!”