Rue's Trust | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, Cal. · Apr 6, 1882

Rue's Trust.

HOW SHE LEARNED TO BE CHEERFUL.

"I AIN'T a bit sleepy, Rue," said Dick, as he took off his shoes, "and I shall want to have you tell me 'bout Jack the Giant-killer, and Moses 'n Dannells 'n Goliah, 'n all the rest of them." Rue looked up to the clock in despair,—she did want to go to meeting so much. It had been such a long, hard day, she felt as though she must have a word of help and encouragement from somewhere. It was just quarter of seven,—perhaps Dick would let her off in time.

"You tell 'em too fast," said that incorrigible youth, as she commenced the first one on her list rapidly. "I can't 'preciate 'em when you talk so fast." Rue smothered a sigh as she commenced on Moses, more moderately. Seven o'clock—quarter past! Dick's eyes showed not the remotest sign of closing and she had only gotten as far as Goliah.

"Dick," she said persuasively, "isn't this enough for to-night? If you will be a good boy and go to sleep without any more, I'll let you make candy to-morrow,—will you?"

"I'll think about the candy to-morrow," said Dick calmly. "Maybe shan't want any; if I do, I'll let you know,—now let's go on."

"But I shall not let you make it unless you do as I want you to-night."

"Oh, yes you will," replied Dick, with serene assurance, "if I tease hard enough, you will be glad to. Now I want to hear about Joseph."

There was plainly nothing to be done about meeting. Rue went through her list without further remark; she might as well be telling stories as anything else, she thought. But by-and-by even Dick could hold out no longer. Rue was free to go if she pleased; but it was too late for meeting, so she went down stairs, out on the porch.

It had been such a long, hard day. To-morrow would be just like it; the day after, the same. Everything had gone wrong. She wondered vaguely how old she would live to be. Could she go on like this until she was seventy-five or eighty? Everything had gone wrong all day long. Mother had a sick headache, the baby was teething and fretting incessantly. Angy had torn her dress a miserable, three-cornered tear, as though Rue had not enough to do without having to stop and mend that. As for Dick, what had he not done!

And the fall term of the Academy commenced to-day. That was enough in itself. Nobody knew how Rue wanted to go; but how could she? Her father was unfortunate in business—somehow he always had been—and always would be, Rue supposed. There was a large family of them. Rue often wondered if unfortunate families were not always large! Her mother was not very strong—she could not do the work alone, anyway. So Rue must give up the darling purpose of her heart, and instead of fitting herself for a teacher, must stay home,—help about the house, and the care of the children. Rue's face grew very bitter as she thought it all over, out there in the gathering dusk. So buried was she in her own thoughts that she did not notice her father's step, as he came up the walk and sat down beside her.

"What is it, Rue?" he asked gently and tenderly. Rue was the child of his heart.

"O father, it isn't anything, it's everything," she said, trying hard not to let the tears come. Poor father! he grieved over his unfortunateness so much for the others' sake. But she need not have tried so hard.

"I know," he said. "I wish you could have gone to the Academy, Rue." Rue broke down utterly then.

"I tried not to mind it," she sobbed, "but it is so hard to give it up, and I hate housework so! I don't believe God loves us—me at any rate—or he wouldn't make it so hard."

"Rue," said her father, "do you remember, when you were a little girl how your mother left you for a whole week to keep house and take care of Tom, Angie, and Will—do you remember?"

"I guess I do," laughed Rue. "Didn't I feel proud! for you know everybody said mamma ought to have Miss Pepper or some one come here to stay and look after things. But mamma said, no,—she could trust me; and I was proud enough!"

"But it was hard. You know how very tired you would be every night. Didn't you ever think she could not love you, or she would not give you such a hard thing to do?"

"O father," said Rue sharply, "I know she trusted, and—." But all at once Rue stopped; it began to dawn upon her what her father meant.

"Don't you think perhaps it is the same with God, that he gives us the hard places in trust,—just as the general puts his best men on the most dangerous posts?"

"O father, you don't really think so, do you?"

"Indeed I do, my daughter. Nothing comes by chance. Everything—even the most trifling incident—has its place in the plan of our lives; and for some of us God plans hard things. Shall we disappoint our leader, or shall we prove equal to the trust? Can we not be glad that he thinks us capable of the hard places?" Rue's eyes filled with tears. But over her face there crept a bright smile.

"If he's trusting me I'll do my best," she said solemnly.

"And remember, little daughter, no matter how hard and strange it may seem, it is the very best thing for us, or else it would not come to us. You and I cannot understand why it is best for you to have to stay at home, when you want so much to go to school; but we know we are in safe, wise hands—do we not?"

"I'll try to remember," whispered Rue softly, as she stooped for a good-night kiss, "it will help ever so much."—Christian Intelligencer.