A Pillow of Thorns by Ernest Gilmore

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · May 31, 1883

A Pillow of Thorns.

By Ernest Gilmore

THERE was a great scarcity of good servant-girls in Elmdale, and Mrs. Warren awoke one morning, after a disturbed night's rest, with the thought that a heavy day's work awaited her one pair of hands.

"I hardly know where to begin, John," she confessed to her husband as she hurriedly dressed herself. "I have some canning that must be done, and the ironing is not anywhere near finished, and there's no denying that the baby is very troublesome—can't wonder that he is, though, dear little thing!" she added, as she bent over the cradle where the baby lay sleeping; "he's cutting teeth, and they probably pain him more than we have any idea of."

"You must keep Katy out of school to help you; she is twelve years old, and surely ought to be able to save you a great many steps."

"Oh, I couldn't think of keeping her out of school just now, she'd get behind in her classes. She can help me before school and at noon—yes, and after school, and perhaps I can get through the day all right, although I do feel a severe headache coming on."

After breakfast Mr. Warren hurried to the store, kissing his wife first, however, and saying, "I'm very sorry for you, dear;" then looking at Katy, who sat by the window with her history, he added pleasantly, "Come, Katy, child, put up your book and help mother, willing little hands can do big work."

But the trouble with Katy just then was that her hands were not willing. As the door closed after her father, she said without rising from her chair, "You don't need me very much, do you, mamma? I haven't learned my history lesson, and we recite it the first hour."

"Why didn't you learn it last evening? You had a long, quiet evening, with nothing else to do."

"Yes, I know I did, but I had an interesting library book to finish, and after that it was too late."

"Another time you must learn your lessons first before you amuse yourself with story-books. You can study your lesson now; I will get along without you," Mrs. Warren said.

Noon came. There was a nice dinner upon the table. Upon the bars the smoothly ironed clothes hung, and on the kitchen table there was a row of glass jars, filled with delicious hot fruit. But it was a very flushed and wearied face that looked over the coffee-urn. It was only half-past twelve when the family finished their dinner, and Mrs. Warren said, "Katy, dear, you have half an hour before school; supposing you tie on a big apron and help me get some of these dishes out of the way."

"Oh dear! I don't see how I can, mamma; I missed my practice hour this morning, and you know I have to take my music lesson to-morrow. But I'll let it go if you say so," Katy said fretfully.

"Go and practice." That was all Katy's tired mother said, as she gathered up the many dishes preparatory to removing them to the hot kitchen. Katy's conscience troubled her some as she practiced her scales in the pleasant parlor. Two or three times, in place of the musical notes, she saw a tired mother's face, but she did not close her instruction book and go to that mother's relief, only struck the notes more vehemently.

It was four o'clock when Katy returned from school. Looking into the sitting-room she found the baby asleep in his cradle, and her mother, with bandaged head, lying upon the couch.

"All quiet along the Potomac?" Katy questioned, as she bent to kiss her mother's hot cheek.

"Quiet just now; but the baby's nap is nearly out, and I dread his awaking. My head is much worse. I think you'll have to get tea to-night, dear; I don't think I possibly can."

"All right, mamma; but it is not near time yet, and can I go over to the slope after wild clematis? The girls are waiting at the gate, and we'll not be gone long."

"You can go if you'll be here at five promptly."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll be here," Katy answered, as she danced from the room, unmindful of her mother's pain.

The door closed after her with a bang which woke the baby, and he began crying. It was some moments before Mrs. Warren's dizzy head would allow her to get up and lift the screaming child from his cradle. She put him on the floor and gave him his box of playthings, which he threw all over the room, even into the dining-room beyond. Mrs. Warren did not seem to care where he threw his toys, as long as he was amused. She laid down again and held her throbbing head, watching the clock as the hands crept closer to five, hoping that thoughtless little Katy would keep her promise. The clock struck one—two—three—four—five. Oh, how the

hammer beat her weary head! But notwithstanding her pain she arose, built the fire, prepared the supper, a pain in her heart worse than that in her head. "Can it be that my little Katy does not love her mother?" she thought.

Supper was all ready when Katy made her appearance at the same time with her father and brothers.

"I'm so sorry, mamma. I meant to come sooner, but I was having such a nice time," began Katy apologetically; but her father stopped her.

"Hush! Where have you been?" he said sternly. "Your mother all alone with the work and the baby? Look at her tired, red face." But his reproof stopped just here, for the tired red face suddenly grew ashen white, and Katy's weary mother was unconscious.

Months have passed since then, but Katy's heart is still sore. Her mother is a patient invalid, without the ability to walk a step. Every night as Katy's head falls upon the pillow, she looks about her room's pretty belongings, dear mother's love and taste breathing through them all, and thinks of what that gray-haired doctor said months ago, as he looked pityingly at her mother. Looking at her thoughtless little Katy, he had said, "Mother has had to work too hard this hot, close day; she's too delicate for such prostrating work. I suppose you help her all you can."

"Ah, but that's the trouble! I didn't help mother all I could; that's why my pillow pricks so."

Poor Katy! don't you all pity her?—Ernest Gilmore, in Sunday-School Times.

AS WHEN we are in prosperity we are ready to think our mountain will never be brought low, so when we are in adversity we are ready to think valley will never be filled up.