Faith

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Apr 18, 1871

The first beams of the morning sun streamed into the wretched attic where Nettie, a little five-year-old maiden, knelt at her morning prayer. She had stolen out of bed softly, so as not to waken her invalid mother, and hungry and cold, knelt down beside her to repeat the Lord’s prayer: “Give us this day our daily bread.”

The sacred words sounded like a mockery as they fell from the lips of a starving child, but not a shadow of doubt dimmed the wasted little face. When she had finished, she rose and looked around her; not a crumb was to be found in the cold, comfortless room, and “mamma” had told her if she asked her Father who lived up in the beautiful blue sky for bread, he would give it to her. Her heart sank for a moment, but suddenly a bright thought struck her; she must go and look for it.

To hurry on the shabby little cloak was the work of a moment, and patter, patter, went the little feet down the long stairway, through the dark court and dingy alley, out into the crowded street. It was a lovely morning; the promise of a perfect day was shining in a cloudless sky; the wind blew fresh from the sea. It brought a tinge of color to Nettie’s pallid face. She had been frightened a little at the throng of strange people, at first; but God would take care of her, and she struggled bravely on.

Presently her eyes fell on a baker’s window, and the child’s heart leaped for joy. Plenty of bread for hungry wayfarers there. Oh, how nice they looked, the crisp rolls, dainty cakes, and fresh pastry, that lay behind the crystal panes. She did not know how famished she had been. It was early yet, and the baker, a big man, with rosy face and keen gray eyes, was alone in the shop when she entered.

He glanced smilingly at the little waif standing there, with the sunlight shining softly on her tangled, golden hair.

“I’ve come for it,” said she, confidently.

“Come for what?”

“My daily bread,” pointing at the snowy loaves temptingly displayed on the counter. “I’ll take two if you please, one for mamma and one for me.”

“All right,” said the baker, folding them up in a brown paper and handing them to his little customer, who started at once for the door.

“Stop you little rogue,” he cried roughly, “where are your pennies?”

“I ha’nt got any,” said the child, simply.

“Ha’nt got any?” he repeated impatiently.

“You little baggar, what brought you here, then?”

The angry words frightened the child; the poor little mouth quivered, the blue eyes filled with tears.

“Mamma’s sick, and Nettie’s so hungry,” she sobbed piteously, “and mamma said God would give us our daily bread, and so when I got up this morning I asked him for it, and then I came here.”

Simple, trusting faith of childhood! No wonder that the rough baker was softened by it, and sent the little maiden back with light heart and well-filled basket to her mother’s side. No wonder that to the poor sufferer “her face was the face of an angel,” and as she listened to the simple story, she murmured softly: “The God of the fatherless answereth prayer. I should have called you faith, my child.”—Sel.