LITMIR.BIZ

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starting up in an instant. ‘Where could anything come from, mother?’

      “‘From God in the first place,’ she answered; ‘and he can always find a way.’

      “‘Mother!’ said Mark, ‘there’s a great many apples in the road by Mr. Crab’s orchard.’

      “‘Well, dear’—said his mother—‘they don’t belong to us.’

      “‘But they’re in the road,’ said Mark; ‘and Mr. Smith’s pigs are there all day long eating ’em.’

      “‘We won’t help the pigs,’ said his mother smiling. ‘They don’t know any better, but we do. I have cause enough for thanksgiving, Marky, in a dear little boy who always minds what I say.’

      “Mark hugged his mother very tight round the neck, and then went immediately to sleep, and dreamed that he was running up hill after a pumpkin.

      “But Mark woke up in the morning empty-handed. There were plenty of sunbeams on the bed, and though it was so late in November, the birds sang outside the window as if they had a great many concerts to give before winter, and must make haste.

      “Mark turned over on his back to have both ears free, and then he could hear his mother and the broom stepping up and down the kitchen; and as she swept she sang.

      ‘Rejoice, the Lord is King;

      Your Lord and King adore;

      Mortals, give thanks and sing,

      And triumph evermore.

      Lift up your hearts, lift up your voice

      Rejoice, again I say, rejoice.

      Rejoice in glorious hope,

      Jesus the Judge shall come,

      And take his servants up

      To their eternal home;

      We soon shall hear th’ archangel’s voice;

      The trump of God shall sound—Rejoice!’

      “Mark listened awhile till he heard his mother stop sweeping and begin to step in and out of the pantry. She wasn’t setting the table, he knew, for that was always his work, and he began to wonder what they were going to have for breakfast. Then somebody knocked at the door.

      “‘Here’s a quart of milk, Mis’ Penly,’ said a voice. ‘Mother guessed she wouldn’t churn again ’fore next week, so she could spare it as well as not.’

      “Mark waited to hear his mother pay her thanks and shut the door, and having meanwhile got into his trousers, he rushed out into the kitchen.

      “‘Is it a whole quart, mother?’

      “‘A whole quart of new milk, Mark. Isn’t that good?’

      “‘Delicious!’ said Mark. ‘I should like to drink it all up, straight. I don’t mean that I should like to really, mother, only on some accounts, you know.’

      “‘Well now what shall we do with it?’ said his mother. ‘You shall dispose of it all.’

      “‘If we had some eggs we’d have a pudding,’ said Mark,—‘a plum-pudding. You can’t make it without eggs, can you mother?’

      “‘Not very well,’ said Mrs. Penly. ‘Nor without plums.’

      “‘No, so that won’t do,’ said Mark. ‘Seems to me we could have made more use of it if it had been apples.’

      “‘Ah, you are a discontented little boy,’ said his mother smiling. ‘Last night you would have been glad of anything. Now I advise that you drink a tumblerful of milk for your breakfast—’

      “‘A whole tumblerful!’ interrupted Mark.

      “‘Yes, and another for your tea; and then you will have two left for breakfast and tea to-morrow.’

      “‘But then you won’t have any of it,’ said Mark.

      “‘I don’t want any.’

      “‘But you must have it,’ said Mark. ‘Now I’ll tell you, mother. I’ll drink a tumblerful this morning, and you shall put some in your tea; and to-night I’ll drink some more, and you’ll have cream, real cream; and what’s left I’ll drink to-morrow.’

      “‘Very well,’ said his mother. ‘But now you must run and get washed and dressed, for breakfast is almost ready. I have made you a little shortcake, and it’s baking away at a great rate in the spider.’

      “‘What’s shortcake made of?’ said Mark, stopping with the door in his hand.

      “‘This is made of flour and water, because I had nothing else.’

      “‘Well don’t you set the table,’ said Mark, ’because I’ll be back directly; and then I can talk to you about the milk while I’m putting on your cup and my tumbler and the plates.’

      “It would be hard to tell how much Mark enjoyed his tumbler of milk,—how slowly he drank it—how careful he was not to leave one drop in the tumbler; while his interest in the dish of milk in the closet was quite as deep. Jack did not go oftener to see how his bean grew, than did Mark to see how his cream rose.

      “Then he set out to go with his mother to church.

      “The influence of the dish of milk was not quite so strong when he was out of the house,—so many things spoke of other people’s dinners that Mark half forgot his own breakfast. He thought he never had seen so many apple-trees, nor so many geese and turkeys, nor so many pumpkins, as in that one little walk to church. Again and again he looked up at his mother to ask her sympathy for a little boy who had no apples, nor geese, nor pumpkin pies; but something in the sweet quiet of her face made him think of the psalm he had read last night, and Mark was silent. But after a while his mother spoke.

      “‘There was once a man, Mark, who had two springs of water near his dwelling. And the furthest off was always full, but the near one sometimes ran dry. He could always fetch as much as he wanted from the further one, and the water was by far the sweetest: moreover he could if he chose draw out the water of the upper spring in such abundance that the dryness of the lower should not be noticed.’

      “‘Were they pretty springs?’ said Mark.

      “‘The lower one was very pretty,’ replied his mother, ‘only the sunbeams sometimes made it too warm, and sometimes an evil-disposed person would step in and muddy it; or a cloudy sky made it look very dark. Also the flowers which grew by its side could not bear the frost. But when the sun shone just right, it was beautiful.’

      “‘I don’t wonder he was sorry to have it dry up, then,’ said Mark.

      “‘No, it was very natural; though if one drank too much of the water it was apt to make him sick. But the other spring–’ and the widow paused, while her cheek flushed and on her lips weeping and rejoicing were strangely mingled.

      “‘There was ‘a great Rock,’ and from this ’the cold flowing waters’ came in a bright stream that you could rather hear than see; yet was the cup always filled to the very brim if it was held there in patient trust, and no one ever knew that spring to fail,—yea in the great droughts it was fullest. And the water was life-giving.

      “‘But this man often preferred the lower spring, and would neglect the other when this was full; and if forced to seek the Rock, he was often weary of waiting for his cup to fill, and so drew it away with but a few drops. And he never learned to love the upper spring as he ought, until one year when the very grass by the lower spring was parched, and he fled for his life to the other. And then it happened, Mark,’ said his mother looking down at him with her eyes full of tears, ’that when the water at last began slowly to come into the lower spring, though it was very lovely and sweet and pleasant it never could be loved best again.’

      “‘Mother,’ said Mark, ‘I don’t know exactly what you mean, and I do know a little, too.’

      “‘Why

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