Whispering Footprints by Elizabeth P. Allan

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Aug 22, 1907

Whispering Footprints

By Elizabeth P. Allan

“Eddy, oh-h, Eddy, where are you?”

“Here, mother,” came a shrill little voice from the back yard.

“Come here, Eddy; I want you to do something for me.”

Then the back door opened, and Mrs. Taylor heard the soft thud of bare feet along the passage. But when Eddy entered the sitting-room, and stood by mother’s sewing table, she only said: “Why, Eddy, what’s the matter?”

Now, there were no cuts or bumps or bruises about the little boy. Why should the mother think anything was the matter? Because his brown eyes, which generally looked right up at you, like two little birds, flying out of a cage, now had an uneasy look; neither here nor there, but away.

“Nothing’s the matter,” said Eddy, looking out of the window. “What did you call me for, mother?”

She had wanted him to run down to the village post-office to mail a letter, but the letter was forgotten now. Mother was silent for a few minutes; then, seeing something between her table and the door, she spoke:—

“I am sorry my little boy has disobeyed me about going to the apple bin without leave.” Eddy gave a little start. “The reason God put me here as your mother, Eddy, is because he thinks I know better what you ought to do, and ought not to do, than you do yourself.”

Eddy did not answer. He was asking himself how mothers knew everything a fellow did.

“I am especially sorry that you should disobey me by sneaking through the coal room window,” said Mrs. Taylor. “I would much rather have you say, ‘I won’t mind you,’ and go in before my eyes, than go in by telling a lie.”

“Why, mother, I didn’t say”—began Eddy, glad of a chance to defend himself.

“Do you think you talk only with your lips?” interrupted his mother. “What do you suppose has whispered

to me that you have been in the apple cellar, and that you went through the coal room?”

“I can’t imagine,” said Eddy, honestly.

“Look behind you.”

The little boy turned, and there, between him and the door, were five coal-dusty footprints on the white matting! Mother could not help smiling at the look of surprise and dismay on the little face, but it was a rather mournful smile.

“Do you think we can ever do wrong, Eddy, and not leave marks of it somewhere?” she asked. “And, O my boy, the marks that sin leaves are on your heart, which ought to be clean and white for God’s eyes, instead of being all tracked over by wrong-doing.”

“Won’t they come out?” asked Eddy. He meant the footprints on the matting, but his mother was thinking about those other marks, when she said: “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin. You must ask him to forgive you, Eddy, and to take away your guilt and to make you hate sin, which leaves such ugly footprints on your little life.”

And then, for a punishment, and for a reminder, mother kept the footprints on the sitting-room floor that whole day so that Eddy might see them and remember how every wrong deed left dark stains on his little heart.—*Elizabeth P. Allan, in Zion’s Herald.