FATHER HOLDS THE LADDER.
By Fada Fisher
FADA FISHER.
(Golden Gate, Ill.) My father and I were out in the orchard gathering our winter supply of apples. The apples were large white ones. The trees were so tall that we had to use father’s great ladder, which was over sixteen feet long, to reach the fruit. When looking at a tree from which father thought he had picked all the apples, he saw three large ones; so, raising the ladder, he asked me if I did not want to go up and get the apples. I told him that I did. I was not the least afraid, for I thought that father would not let me fall. Climbing the ladder, I stood on the top round while picking the apples, and then came safely down. Let us all let our dear Heavenly Father hold the ladder, and let us go step by step until at last we gain a home in heaven. [The author of this little narrative writes, “I am a little girl twelve years of age, and am a member of the REVIEW family. I love the dear old REVIEW.” —Ed.]