Ruth and Naomi

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 13, 1910

“EDITH,” said grandma, as a lonely girl went up the road, “why don’t you play with Amy now?”

Grandmothers have time to think, although their fingers are the busiest; and this grandma had seen Amy dropped from the little circle of playmates. She knew, too, that trouble had come to Amy’s home.

“I don’t know,” said Edith.

“You used to go to Amy’s often, and no one enjoyed her carriage more than Edith.”

“She always asked me, grandma, and her mother was glad.”

“Wouldn’t she be glad to have you now?”

“Perhaps,” said Edith; “but things seemed so different after their home was sold. I felt queer, and Amy felt queer. So I stayed away.”

“If I were Edith,” said grandma, speaking slowly to some one far away, “I’d go to Amy and give back some of the pleasure she gave me long ago.”

Grandma went on sewing, and Edith read her book. Suddenly she sprang up, dropped her book on the table, and not long after another little girl went up the road.

“Amy,” said Edith, going into the tiny parlor, “I’ve brought you some of the apples you like from our orchard. Didn’t we have fun bobbing for them in your kitchen?”

“O!” said Amy. Then what do you think she did? She sat down and cried.

“Why, Amy, aren’t you glad I came?”

“So glad, I’m just finding out how sorry I was!”

“I’ll never stay away again,” said Edith, putting her arms around Amy.

“Did you play Ruth to Naomi?” asked grandma, when Edith told her about it, with flushed cheeks.

“I don’t know what you mean, grandma.”

“Ruth stayed with Naomi when she needed her badly—when she had lost everything else.”

“Amy hasn’t lost everything else, and she won’t lose me either, grandma.”—Selected.