Sue's Answer by Kate Sumner Gates

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 28, 1883

Sue's Answer.

By Kate Sumner Gates

"Oh, dear!" groaned Sue behind the pantry door, whither she had retreated in sore distress of mind. "I wonder if there's anything else to come."

There was the flour-barrel empty; she had put the last lump of sugar into her mother's tea that night. Margie's shoes, that for some time had been only just holding together, had given out to-day as completely as the deacon's "one-hoss shay."

It was growing cold every day. It was the time of year for it to do so, to be sure, but all the same the coal-bin was empty. Sue hid the thermometer in the darkest corner of the closet, and tried to feel comfortably warm without a fire, but it was a lamentable failure.

Mother did not notice it so much, for she did not sit up long at a time, and was all bundled up then. The doctor had said that very afternoon that they must get nourishing food for her, else she would never get strong. And there on the table lay Sue's pocket-book—Sue was family treasurer—looking, she declared, as though Mt. Washington had sat on it. Oh! if she could only get a letter to-night!

Presently, after carefully wiping away all traces of tears, Sue emerged from her hiding-place. "Guess I'll just run down to the office," she said carelessly. "My head aches some; the fresh air will do it good. You will not want anything but what the children can get for you—will you, mother?"

"No, dear. Take a walk; it will do you good."

"All right. Good-bye!"

Up-stairs, in her own little room, Sue knelt down by the bedside. "O Father in Heaven!" she prayed, "grant my prayer, and give me the letter I desire." Over and over again she prayed it passionately.

There was a vacancy over in the Podunk schools. She had heard of it somehow, and more than a week ago had written to the committee, applying for the school, but not a word had she heard yet. Surely the answer would come to-night! If only she knew she would have the school, she would ask Mr. Stone to trust them for groceries. She wrapped her shawl closely about her, and went down the street rapidly.

"Anything for me?" she asked almost confidently. She had prayed for it so earnestly; surely it must come. Her heart almost stood still as Miss Duncan looked.

"No, there's nothing for you. Growing colder, isn't it?"

Sue shrugged her shoulders impatiently. What did she care about the weather! At any rate, she did not wish to be reminded that it was growing cold; for there was that empty coal-bin.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I was expecting a letter to-night."

Miss Duncan looked again, more carefully. There was something in the girl's face that rather startled her. She wished she could find a letter addressed to "Miss Sue Dennison," but there was none such to be found.

"I'm sorry," she said, turning back to her little window; "but I do not find any."

Sue made no answer; she only shut her lips very tightly together.

"I—don't believe God hears our prayers, or cares for us,—not for me, at any rate," she thought to herself as she went wearily home.

"Come and sit down by me," said her mother, after the children were in bed, "and tell me all about it."

Sue came over and put her head down in the pillows.

"I thought God answered prayers," she said bitterly.

"He does, my child."

"But not always," interposed Sue; "for I have been praying all the week, and particularly to-day, that I might get a letter from Podunk, and I did not get it. Here it is Friday, school begins Monday, so, of course, there is no hope for me there now. I might just as well not have prayed."

"Sue," asked her mother, "do you remember, when you were getting well from scarlet fever, how you used to tease me to let you read?"

"Of course I do," replied Sue, wondering what was the connection between her childish doings and her letter.

"Did I let you do as you wished?"

"No, you kept putting me off, though I thought it was awful in you. But I found afterwards that you were afraid I was going to lose my eyes."

"My dear, perhaps the Lord is holding back your letter because he sees it is for your good in some way. All prayer is answered; do not doubt that. Yours will be, maybe is already, only the answer may not have reached you. It may not, perhaps, be just as you ask or expect. When you begged me to let you read, I dared not, but I read to you myself. Oftentimes, in our blindness, we ask of the Lord that which is not good for us, and in love he gives us instead what he sees best for us."

"But, mother, this is for our good; we need it so much," pleaded Sue.

"Yes, dear, so we think, but it is all right. Cannot you trust the Lord, my child?"

"I—don't know. If it was anything I wanted for myself—but it seems so hard to refuse me such a little thing when I want it so much for your sakes," said Sue bitterly, as she rose and went about putting things to rights for the night.

"I suppose the Lord does answer prayer sometimes, but it didn't do any good for me to pray," was her last thought before she dropped asleep.

The chairman of the school committee in Podunk had a small hole in his overcoat pocket, and Mrs. Chairman kept forgetting to mend it. It was not so very large, just about right for a letter to slip through; and who would ever think of looking in a coat-lining for letters! Furthermore, this was the very pocket where Mr. Chairman usually carried his letters.

Somehow Miss Duncan could not get Sue's face out of her mind.

"It was no ordinary letter she wanted," she said to herself, as Sue trudged wearily home. "There's trouble of some sort there. I do believe they are poor as church mice. Well, I hope the letter will come to-morrow."

"But the last mail for the day had come and been sorted, and still there was nothing for Sue. I really believe," sighed the cheery little postmistress to herself,—"I really believe if she looks as disappointed to-night, I shall—Why, Cousin James! Where do you come from, and what you want?"

"I'm hunting a needle in a haymow. Suppose I'll find it?" replied the new-comer.

"Perhaps, if you know in what part to look."

"But I don't, you see. I don't even know for sure that there is any needle. You see our schools commence Monday, and at the very last minute we find ourselves minus a teacher, and I do not seem to have very good luck in finding any one to fill her place. You don't happen to know of any one, do you?"

Miss Duncan had a sudden vision of Sue's face as it had looked last night.

"She's a good scholar,—and I guess they are poor enough, without doubt—it won't do any harm any way; I'll send him there," was her rapid mental conclusion.

"It's all guess-work, James, but I have an intuition that I know just where you can find your needle."

"Much obliged," responded Cousin James, as he wrote Sue's address down. "Good night."

"Oh mother!" almost sobbed Sue that night, "just think how much better this is than I asked. Why, the salary is two or three times as large as I should have had in Podunk! O mother, mother, to think I should be so wicked when God had this in store for me!"

And Mrs. Chairman never knew how those few neglected stitches of hers changed the whole future of the life of a perfect stranger to her.—Kate Sumner Gates, in S. S. Times.