The Saucer Pie | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · May 4, 1882

The Saucer Pie.

"WELL, what do you think of our little girl, Eben?" Mrs. Rutherford asked this question just as they were through dinner, and Jenny had been excused from table. They had brought her to their pleasant country home, a month before, on probation, with a view to keeping her as their own.

Eben laid down his knife and fork, pushed back his plate, and looking through the open door, to catch a glimpse of pink gingham flitting around the corner, answered slowly:—

"I like her right well; I think, if you're suited, we'd best keep her. She is bright, and willing, and truthful."

"And a quiet little thing," put in his wife.

"Yes; don't know but I'd as lief she wouldn't be so quiet, though. I'll tell you, Sarah, I'm sort o'longing for a child's laugh rippling out at anything or nothing. I'd like to see her dancing about, and singing to herself, chattering like a magpie, and all that sort o' thing. I've tried to please her. I've told her stories, and taken her around on the farm with me, and let her ride on Charley's back to the brook; and she likes it all, in a quiet sort of way. But she doesn't seem downright happy and merry, as it's a child's right to be."

"Oh, well, I guess she's contented enough, plenty to eat and wear, and kindly treated. I'd rather she'd be quiet than like Mrs. Dorr's little Nelly over the way, climbing trees and riding fences, and singing and shouting from morning till night."

Meantime, Jenny was sitting on a rock by the brook, laving her bare, white feet, and saying to herself,

"Now, if I thought she'd care anything about them, I'd get her some of those great blue flowers—they're beauties," looking at the clusters of the Iris: "I'd as lief wade in as not. But I suppose she'd say, 'Yes, yes; child, very pretty, don't clutter the floor with them,' and keep on tying up her curtains or 'ranging her closets. Mamma always liked them so much. O mamma!" And the little figure lay prone on the grass, trembling and sobbing.

"Mamma! O mamma, I want you. She's kind to me, but there's nobody like mamma."

"Poor child! poor child!"

It was Eben's voice, but tender and gentle. His strong arms lifted her quivering form, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"There, there, dear, don't cry. Want to go to mill with me? You shall have the reins yourself, and drive if you like."

A few words from Eben that night set Sarah thinking; and the new thoughts that came to her were strengthened next day in a neighbor's kitchen. She had "run in" of an errand, and found "Aunt Martha," as she was called in the neighborhood parlance, making pies. She stood by her moulding-board, with sleeves rolled up, and wide gingham apron on, the picture of a healthy, hearty, blithe old lady. Half a dozen pies, with rich, golden centers, stood by her side. Half a dozen apple pies were already browning in the oven. She had a little crust left. She rolled it out, spread it in a couple of saucers, filled the centers, round and plump, with the juicy spiced apples, and daintily trimmed the edges.

"Do you make saucer-pies, auntie?" asked Mrs. Rutherford in some surprise.

"Yes, every baking. Why not?" said auntie.

"Well, when the children are not at home to eat them, it seems hardly worth while. It is easier to put all in one large pie, and tastes just the same, you know."

"Oh, yes; but some child is so apt to happen along of an errand or something. A saucer-pie is a great thing to a child. I've made them about every fortnight for fifteen years, and always found use for them. It more than pays for the work to see the little folks so pleased. You know, dear," the old lady added gently, "the time that trifles give great pleasure is so short, it passes by before we are aware. Sometimes, I think it is only childhood that is content with daily bread."

"I'll make a saucer-pie for Jenny next time I bake," said Mrs. Rutherford to herself, as she went home. "Strange I never thought of it before. I'll—let me see—I'll dress her dolly new for her. It's quite shabby. And I'll keep her with me more, and tell her stories at bed-time. Maybe it is just the little things mothers do that she wants to chirk her up."

The next morning, Mrs. Rutherford concluded it was time to have some pies, and went to work with a will. When the baking was done, a dainty saucer-pie, sugared on top, and plump with ripe, sweet berries, stood on the dresser.

"Here's something for you, dear," she said, as Jenny came in with quiet footfall, and she placed the little pie in the child's hands. Jenny's face flushed, her eyes lighted up, and then to Sarah's surprise grew dim with tears, and the sensitive mouth quivered. But only for a moment.

"Thank you, thank you!" she said eagerly, "It's just like the little pies mamma used to make for me."

"Ah! that's it," thought Sarah. "Eben's right, to be sure. She wants 'mothering.'" And she drew the little girl to her side and kissed her. The dimpled arms were around her neck in an instant, and the kiss returned, and through the day Jenny seemed to feel happier and more at home.

Bed-time came, and Jenny, nestling in the white pillow, looked up with wondering eyes as Mrs. Rutherford sat down on the side of the bed, and taking the little hands in hers, said kindly, "Shall I tell you a story, dear?"

She listened with eager interest to the story of the Highland shepherd's child, lost in the mountain mist, and guarded and fed by his faithful dog. And when Mrs. Rutherford bent down and kissed her, the white arms again wound impulsively around her neck, and Jenny said, for the first time, "Good-night, mamma!"

Sarah was startled, the new name seemed so sweet. "I see now," she thought. "Eben is right. It is mother love and care the child needs and shall have."

Mrs. Rutherford kept her resolution. She did not, could not, at once feel the intense devotion of a mother. But she was no longer content with feeding and clothing her charge. She tried to satisfy the hungering and thirsting for affection, which she had learned to meet and recognize. She sought Jenny's happiness, and in due time, she had her reward. Love in her own heart, grateful love in her child's, strengthened day by day. Jenny grew gradually happier, till her laugh and song rang out as merrily as Eben wished. And her presence seemed like sunlight in their home. And when a year had passed, neither of the worthy couple would any more have thought of parting with her than if she had been theirs by birth. They knew no difference in the home-tie.

"It all dates back," said Sarah to her husband one evening, as they sat talking by the fire after Jenny went to bed, "all this happiness dates back to that first saucer-pie. Jenny seemed from that time to believe that I loved her."—Christian Register.