"GRUMPY COBE'S" AWAKENING.
By Olive Searing
[By Olive Searing, in the Christian Advocate.] "There they come," said Grandma Perrit, as she drew aside the white muslin curtain and readjusted her spectacles. "Yes, there is Carrie. Bobbie is running along ahead. How that child—" Her sentence was interrupted. A sturdy little fellow of about seven years bounded into the room, threw his arms around the old lady's neck, and gave her such a vigorous hug that it almost took her breath away. It was the custom for grandma's only daughter to make an annual visit to the country homestead. She usually came in the autumn and remained until after Thanksgiving. She said, "The old farm always looks as tho it were arrayed for a merry frolic, with its garlands of red leaves and abundance of ripe fruit." To Bobbie, who had always lived in the city, it was a season of rare pleasure. There were the horses, the cows, and old Bruno the dog, who always seemed to remember and welcome him. The next morning he went to see Farmer Cobe—Grumpy Cobe, as he was called, but he was never cross to Bobbie, who thought him very good and learned. The little fellow was fond of old Jim, grandma's hired man, but he liked old Grumpy better, he knew so much about the crops and the weather. Bobbie and he had become very friendly discussing various points in agriculture. "What dat chile see in old Grumpy Cobe is a mystery to me," said Dinah, the cook, who stood by the kitchen window, watching the pair of strong little legs flash across the ground. "Dar ain't nobody dat wants to hab any dealin's wid 'im." "We must remember," said grandma, "that he is a lonely old man. Perhaps if his wife and children were living, he would be different." "Dar ain't no use holdin' tings up agin de Lord; I reckon de Lord know what's best. De o'her day I say to Grumpy, 'Thanksgivin' 'ill soon be comin' 'long.' Say he, 'What de use habin' Thanksgivin'? I ain't got nuthin' to be thankful fo'.* He am dead in trespassin' and sin, suah." In a few minutes Bobbie was across the lots where the farmer was planting his winter wheat. "How do you do, Mr. Cobe?" he said, as he shook hands with his old friend. "Well! I hardly knowed ye. Sho! how you've growed!" exclaimed the old man. "Come to help me do my farmin', hev ye? Well, I guess ye can handle a hoe better this year." "Are the crops good this year?" inquired Bobbie. "Grandma said you were complainin' with the rheumatism." "Crops is poor; I never knew 'em to be wuss. There ain't no corn or no oats. This Virginia climate ain't what it's cracked up to be. Yes, I was laid up with these rickety old legs, and here I am two weeks behind time plantin' this wheat. It looks pretty dark over there. Guess I have to hurry." For some time Bobbie watched the process attentively. "Let me help you, Mr. Cobe." "Well, you jest go 'long ahead of me and sprinkle in the grain—so; not too big a handful. That's it. Let 'em down easy and keep goin' on." "What makes the seeds grow?" asked Bobbie, presently. "O, there's somethin' in 'em that sprouts up when the sun shines and the rain falls." "Who put it there?" questioned the child. The old man paused a minute and leaned on his hoe. "The Lord, who made 'em, I suppose." The gray clouds that had been gathering in the east grew darker and spread rapidly across the sky. The rain fell silently down on the newly covered grain. "Well," said Farmer Cobe, mournfully rubbing his right knee, "I'll have to stop this. I don't know as there's much use botherin', anyway. I'll soon be dead and under ground, and that'll be the end of me." Slinging the bag of grain over his shoulder and picking up his farming implements, he started toward the house. Never before had Bobbie seen his old friend in such a despondent mood. "Didn't God put something in you that would make you come up again like the seeds?" he asked gently. The old man looked earnestly at the child's innocent upturned face. Presently they reached the gate. The dark clouds had rolled on beyond, and the rain had ceased. The farmer leaned on the fence, and watched Bobbie's nimble little limbs as he ran toward home. A vision of the past came before him. His thoughts wandered back to his boyhood. He saw again that dear face, and an eternal brightness seemed to gleam in her eyes as she sung those old hymns. How the words came echoing back through the years! The rays of the setting sun had cast a crimson light across the sky; the brightness of day had faded; the old man lingered, unconscious of the scenes around him, for he still heard that far voice singing:— "My soul, revived with sacred love,
God's holy name forever bless;
Of all His favors mindful prove,
And still thy grateful thanks express." The next morning Bobbie ran across the field with more spirit than usual. The truth was, his grandma had bidden him invite Mr. Cobe to their Thanksgiving dinner. When about to enter his friend's door, he stopped short; the old man was kneeling, his hands clasped before him, while from his lips came murmurings of praise and supplication. "De lion and de lamb!" said Dinah, some time later, as she beheld Bobbie and his old friend, hand in hand, coming toward the house. "Yes," said grandma, "'A little child shall lead them.'"