UNDER THE STARS by Elizabeth P. Allan

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · May 14, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 28.

UNDER THE STARS.

By Elizabeth P. Allan

"It isn't far from bedtime, Sam," said his father. "Don't it strike you so?"

Father and mother and Sam had been sitting out on the grass enjoying the cool night breezes.

"Are you going up with me, farder?"

"Going up with you! Hello, stranger! who are you? I thought this was my big boy, most six years old; but he goes to bed by himself."

"I know, farder, but it's kind o' lonesome up there."

"You aren't afraid, Sam, are you?" asked mother softly.

" 'Fraid? no'm," answered the little boy in surprise; "course I ain't 'fraid, 'cause there ain't no rattlesnakes nor nothin' like that livin' here; but I get lonesome."

"Well, you can just open the shutter," said father, "and then I'll holler good-night to you."

"Papa," said Sam, "you aren't afraid for your little boy to sleep by himself, are you?"

"Not a bit."

"You wouldn't be afraid for him to sleep out-of-doors, would you?"

"Out-of-doors, hey?"

"God would be certain to take care of me, even out-of-doors, wouldn't he, papa?"

"Why, of course."

"Well, then," said the little boy triumphantly, "I want to sleep out here in the hammock to-night."

"O Sammy, you'd get scared in the night!" cried his mother.

"What would make me scared?" he asked innocently; "there wouldn't be anybody out here but God and me."

They could not refuse to let him put his Heavenly Father to the proof. He went upstairs and put on his little gown, said his prayers, and came down hugging a pillow in his short arms. Mamma wrapped him up in a big shawl, and before he had been in his swinging bed fifteen minutes, the little boy was asleep.

The father and mother did not feel a bit like leaving their only little boy out under the trees all night, but after watching his quiet sleep for a long time, they went to bed themselves. And all through the night first papa and then mamma would steal to the window and look out at the little dark bundle rolled up in the hammock.

Once several dogs tore through the yard, growling and fighting. This brought the father and mother both to the window, but there was no sound from the hammock.

"Did you hear the dogs, Sammy?" asked mother in the morning.

"Yes; I hear 'em," answered the little man of faith, "but course I knew God wasn't 'fraid of dogs." —Elizabeth P. Allan.