A CUP OF COLD WATER

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Apr 9, 1896

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 22, No. 15.

A CUP OF COLD WATER.

Saviour, thy dying love thou gavest me, Nor would I aught withhold, dear Lord, from thee.

Kate Allen hummed the tune softly, as she swayed to and fro in a hammock in a shady corner of the piazza. She was in the exalted mood in which she had returned from the League prayer-meeting the night before. It had been a most inspiring meeting, and Kate, while listening to the eloquent address from a talented young clergyman who was visiting the parsonage, had experienced, with many others, a rise in the temperature of her religious zeal and devotion. She had said at the gate to Mrs. Ripley, her Bible class teacher, who had walked home with her:—

“Christ never seemed so real and so beautiful to me as he does to-night, and I want to do something for him.”

“Don’t look too long nor too far for the ‘something,’ Kate,” said Mrs. Ripley, as she bade her good-night.

Kate had gone about her light part in the household tasks the next morning dreaming of some great sacrifice which she might perform for the Master; and as she sat down for her piano practice, her hands dropped idly upon the keys, and her face took on a look of rapt and blissful meditation.

It was Bridget’s afternoon out; Mrs. Allen had an engagement at the church; Gypsy, Kate’s youngest sister, had been invited to join a sailing party; so it fell to Kate to remain at home, for the family never left Aunt Lavina alone. If any one had told the Allens that they were not kind to Aunt Lavina, they would have resented it bitterly; but the fact is her illness had been an old story to them, and they waited upon her with a joyless haste, as if they were doing their duty and would be glad to be through with it and off to some more congenial task.

Aunt Lavina was one of those proud, sensitive souls, to whom had come that keen martyrdom of being a burden to others. For years she had been obliged to accept the services of unloving and reluctant hands.

She had learned to make as little trouble as possible, “to express less rather than more,” to suppress all the small whims and fancies of an invalid, and to content herself in the thought that her room was neatly kept and her meals were on time. Her bedroom opened by a French window on that corner of the piazza where Kate’s hammock hung. The afternoon was so sultry that Kate was quite willing to remain at home. Aunt Lavina heard the gentle, rhythmical creaking of the hammock, and disliked to ask for the drink of water for which she longed.

Some work of love begun, Some deed of kindness done, Something for Thee,

sang Kate dreamily. She made a pretty picture of ease as she lay there in her fresh, cool muslin and white ribbons.

“Who knows but I may be a deaconess, or perhaps a foreign missionary?” thought she, thrilling with the completeness of her self-sacrifice.

“Katharine!” came a feeble voice through the open window. Kate was not quite sure that she heard the call, and it was repeated. The girl’s brow contracted with a frown, and there was an undertone of irritation in her voice as she presented herself at the window and said:—

“What is it?”

Aunt Lavina’s thirst had become positive torture.

“Some water, please, dear. I’m so sorry to trouble you.”

Kate turned without a word, and went out into the kitchen. The fire had only just gone out, and the room was unbearably warm. The water pail stood in its usual place. Kate knew that it had been freshly filled at lunch time, two hours before, and that the water was now hardly palatable. The well, however, was on the south side of the house, and quite a little distance off, in an unshaded spot.

“I guess this will do,” said Kate, and she picked up an old stone china cup with a nick in it, which usually stood there, filled it from the insipid contents of the pail, and started for the invalid’s room.

Just then Mrs. Ripley’s words flashed across her mind: “Don’t look too long nor too far for the ‘something,’ Kate.”

The girl stopped in the middle of the floor. A crimson flush overspread her face. If Jesus Christ had asked her for a drink of water, would she have offered this to him? Yet this stale water in the old, coarse, cracked cup was for his lips, for Aunt Lavina was one of his very own! “Something for Thee!” Her lips curled at her meanness, even while her eyes filled with quick, sorrowful tears.

She took her garden hat from its nail, emptied the water pail, and carried it out to the well. She felt the fierce heat of the sun with delight, and, filling the pail with the ice-cold, sparkling water, she rinsed and refilled it, and returned to the house. Then she went to the china closet and selected a dainty bread and butter plate with a border of forget-me-nots, and took down one of the fragile cut-glass tumblers from the precious half dozen which cousin Beth had given to Mrs. Allen last Christmas. Nothing was too good for the Master. Her hands trembled as she filled the gleaming glass, set it on the plate, and started again for the sick-room. The invalid noticed the pretty things in Kate’s hands with a strange thrill of delight, and reached out eagerly for the water.

“How delicious! How refreshing!” she said softly; and it was not alone her burning thirst that was relieved, but something of love and pity in Kate’s eyes went right to Aunt Lavina’s poor, parched heart, “like gentle rain from heaven.” It was easy then for Kate to see that the pillow needed to be arranged, and the window shade to be drawn down a little. She also thought of the great masses of sweet peas growing by the east porch. Strange how no one had thought to give Aunt Lavina a bouquet that summer. It did not take the swift young fingers long to cull a cluster of the beautiful flowers, and to place them in a vase on the small stand beside the bed.

“Why, Katharine!” said Aunt Lavina, in gentle, grateful surprise, that smote upon Kate’s soul like a sharp blow.

Kate looked at the patient eyes, the thin, suffering face, and saw as by a great light how Aunt Lavina had been left out of their hearts. Her thoughts had been traversing sea and land for some work for her Lord, while a service worthy of an angel lay within her door. She did not speak of the past to the invalid, nor of the future, but the Master heard the voice of her spirit saying with humble joy, “Lo, glad am I; I delight to do thy will, O God!” And Aunt Lavina heard a word which gave her a fresh surprise:—

“I’ve lots of time to-day, auntie. Shall I read to you awhile?”—Zion’s Herald.