THE HOME CIRCLE | AdventAI

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Jan 17, 1878

THE HOME CIRCLE.

Adopting an Orphan.

ONE dreary morning, while Mary Reed was making her customary visits among the poor, she passed a little shanty close by the roadside, whence issued the sound of a child crying loudly, but apparently from grief rather than physical pain. Mary paused; suddenly the cries ceased for a moment, and a low, broken voice was heard, and then from the child again suppressed sobs. Mary knocked at the door; it was opened by a child of some seven years old. The traces of tears were visible on the child's damp cheeks and swollen eyes; her long golden curls fell disordered about her shoulders, and her voice trembled so that she could scarcely speak.

"What is the matter, dear child?" asked Mary.

"Oh, my mother is going to die!" sobbed the child.

Mary entered a small bed-room, where lay a woman in the last stages of consumption. On her bed was a German Bible.

"He keepeth them in perfect peace who put their trust in Him," said Mary in German, taking, as she spoke, the invalid's hand.

"God has surely sent you here, as you can speak to me in my own tongue, before I die," said the woman.

"Are you dying?" asked Mary.

"Yes; only a few days more remain for me on earth."

"Are you afraid to die?" inquired Mary.

"No, not afraid. I trust in the Lamb of God; but, oh, my faith is weak! my poor little child, my Henrietta, penniless and friendless; where will she find a home?"

Mary soon gathered from the woman that she had come four years before to America. After remaining a year in New York they came to Chicago, where her husband died shortly after. The widow had toiled bravely for herself and only child, but grief and hard labor had thrown her into a consumption, in which she had lingered five months. Her money had been spent, her clothing and furniture pawned, and but for the kindness of a neighbor, a poor Irish washerwoman, she and her child might have starved. Mary, having learned these particulars, took her leave, promising to return in an hour or two, and encouraging the little girl to hope for the best. She went to the benevolent washerwoman and made some inquiries. The woman was loud in her eulogies of her afflicted neighbors, enlarging on their goodness and poverty, but modestly abstaining from mentioning her charities towards them. "Indeed," she said, in conclusion, "often, have I thought that I'd change places with the dear creature, sick as she is, for the sake of being such a good, holy woman—so well prepared to die."

Mary was not one of those who, having discovered a case of great necessity, go home and spend a day or two considering what course they had better take for relieving the misery they compassionate, leaving the sufferers meanwhile to suffer or die of despair. Mary decided quickly, and was careful not to overstep what in any case might be the bounds of prudence. She now hastened to the market and procured a basket of provisions and returned to the widow. Her busy hands soon made a fire and prepared some broth ready for the mother, and half-famished child. Mary was a most skillful nurse, and she arranged the sick woman's bed in so comfortable a way, that for the time a visible change for the better appeared. The pain that had racked the poor woman's worn-out frame was alleviated for a few hours and she lay refreshed and strengthened, in whispered words thanking and blessing Mary. The little room now called for Mary's attention. She restored it to unwonted order, and placed a little stand by the bed, the sole relic, besides the Bible, of former and happier days, and upon it the Bible, a few flowers in a glass, and the oranges she had brought. It was the middle of the afternoon before Mary departed, having promised to call the next day on her return from the mission school. She continued her visits to her new proteges for several days. The mother grew feebler, and it was evident she had not many days to live. Mary saw that the thoughts of leaving her child alone and friendless in the world, were filling her last hours with grief. She said to her, "Would you be willing to have me find a home for your little Henrietta? Can you trust me to find one, where she will be happy and under good influences?"

"Oh, my kind friend," said the widow, "if you will but promise to do this, I will die in peace. I can trust you with all I have—my child."

Mary went to a friend of hers, Mrs. Captain Carroll. "Mrs. Carroll," she said, "I want you to adopt a little girl."

"Oh, Mary Reed, are you crazy?" cried Mrs. Carroll, lifting up her hands.

"Not at all, Mrs. Carroll, but there is a little girl—a widow's only child; the mother is dying, and I wish to make her last hours happy by finding another mother for her little girl."

"Oh, I can't think of such a thing, Mary," said Mrs. Carroll.

"Why, madam, who has a better opportunity? You are rich and childless. I have never seen any one better fitted to train up a child for happiness and usefulness than you. I really think it is your duty to take a child to adopt," said Mary.

"Oh, what would the Captain say. I'm sure he would never consent. Then, grandfather and grandmother, you know, I feel just as if they were my own parents, as I have always lived with them, and they wouldn't fancy the idea at all. Really, Mary you must find some one else."

Mary departed, but in a day or two called again. "Come, Mrs. Carroll," she said, "I am going to visit a sick friend, a poor person, and I wish you would come with me, and take one of your glasses of currant jelly for her." Mrs. Carroll, who was very benevolent, at once consented. "Have you found any one to adopt that child yet?" asked Mrs. Carroll.

"No; every one has some good excuse," replied Mary.

"Every one?" said Mrs. Carroll.

"Every one except one lady, Mrs. Captain Carroll," answered Mary smiling. "Oh, you are too bad to say that," said her friend. Mary walked on silently until her companion resumed, "Well, Mary, what are you thinking about now? You have been in a brown study for ten minutes."

"I was thinking of this, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me.' If we feed, clothe, love, and shelter one poor child, Christ graciously receives it as done unto Himself." Before Mrs. Carroll could reply, they entered the German widow's little dwelling. Mrs. Carroll was so absorbed in thoughts, called up by Mary's last remark, that she did not think of its being the house of the child she desired her to take. After a while she began to notice the extreme beauty of little Henrietta, and the refinement and Christian humility, and patience under suffering, of the mother. She was finally startled by hearing the woman say, "And does the the lady you spoke of still refuse to take my little girl?"

"Yes, she thinks she cannot," replied Mary.

"And have you found any other place?" she inquired.

"None; I have done my best," replied Mary.

"Oh, this is very hard! God help me to bear it. I have only a few days or hours to live, and I had hoped to see my little one provided for. God help thee, poor little Henrietta!" and as she said this, she turned away her face to hide her grief from those about her. Mrs. Carroll could no longer refuse; coming up to the bed, she said, "Take courage; I will help you. I am the lady asked to adopt your child; I cannot refuse it now. I will take her for my own, and love her as my own."

The woman clasped her thin hands, and whispered a prayer before she spoke, "With all my heart; I thank you, let the blessings of a dying mother follow you. Oh, you have made me happy indeed! Come here, my Henrietta, see how good God is. He is taking me from you, but He gives you another mother in this good lady. Love her, Henrietta, and obey her, and try all your life to be a blessing to her."

Mrs. Carroll took the child in her arms. The little creature bent over and kissed her mother, and then overcome by her excited feelings, turned away and hid her face on Mrs. Carroll's shoulder.

A few days after, the sick mother died, and Henrietta was taken from the grave to her new mother's home.