A MESSAGE FROM AMERICA.
SO the summer and the holidays had come to an end, and Aunt Ruth had
"settled down," as Tom called it, and filled her own quiet little niche
very happily.
After their last evening's talk at the seaside, the others were very
curious to know whether Tom knew, really, of a home which was getting
ready for Aunt Ruth.
Tom only shook his head whenever they asked him. "I know what I know,"
he said gravely, "and I have my own conclusions. It is not for me to
say to everybody what I think. I'm glad Aunt Ruth is going to be with
us for the present! That's all I have to do with, and you won't get
more out of me if you ask me for a year!"
But all the same for that, when he got a letter one morning from
America, he never mentioned the contents to anyone but his mother, and
they did not know of that. It was not his own secret he was keeping.
"What makes you so bright, Tom?" asked his aunt wistfully one wintry
day, as they sat over the fire together.
"Whenever I look at you, I say to myself, 'He careth for you,' auntie,
and that does me good."
"But why, dear—I am very happy," she added. "You are all so loving, and
I have such a much easier life than if I had to turn out on the world."
"Yes, 'He careth for you,'" said the boy, smiling. "You came and taught
us to trust Him more than we ever did before, and now God lets me pass
it back to you, so that you take courage to keep on!"
He smiled at her lovingly, and went to fetch his lesson books.
Tom read and re-read that letter from America, and could not make up
his mind about it.
The letter said:
"You cannot think how you have comforted me about your
Aunt Ruth! Tom! If you see any cause to tell her, or if you think it
will add to her happiness, show her this letter. No one knows what it
cost me to leave her without a word—but I seemed to have no right—at
least, I thought so then. But sometimes I have thought—Tom, I am
getting on nicely. Your text has been a great comfort, 'Casting all
your care upon Him, for He careth for you.'"
"God has cared for me wonderfully, and if you think that she whom
I love would be happier to know there is some one working for her,
then—then tell her, Tom, or show her this letter, and ask her if I may
write the next to her."
Tom had gone up to fetch his books. As he stood in the cold,
reading over these words, he felt perplexed. It seemed such a great
responsibility.
Then he thought of his text, and knelt down for an instant. "Casting
all your care upon Him, for He careth for you."
For a minute he looked soberly at the letter, then with brightening
cheeks, and ran downstairs. How thankful he was that the others were
out!
"Aunt Ruth," he said, hesitating a little, "I have a letter here which
I was to give you or not, as I considered best. It was a great honour
to be charged with so much, but I think if I were in your place, I
should like to see it."
He held out his hand, and it trembled. Aunt Ruth looked up earnestly.
"Who is it from, Tom?"
"Some one you knew before your grand-papa died—some one who went abroad
because—"
Tom choked. "You'll see what he says; it can't do any harm, and it may
be a Christmas present for you, auntie!"
He caught up his books, and was gone before she could speak.
Presently—it seemed a good while to Tom in the cold—Aunt Ruth came to
his door.
"Tom, dear," she said, with averted face, "how can I tell you how glad
I am that you told me! God has been very good to me, and, indeed, His
assurance which I trusted has come abundantly true, 'He careth for
you.'"