Too Good to Be True? by Anonymous

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Mar 24, 1914

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 41, No. 11.

Too Good to Be True?

By Anonymous

A LADY and her guest who had just arrived were riding along the shady street. Pupils from the public school began to throng the sidewalks. At a crossing, a bright-faced boy, about ten years old, stood waiting for the ladies to pass, and lifted his cap with a courteous gesture and a sunny smile.

The hostess leaned from the carriage with a pleasant greeting, and the boy's gray cap covered the brown curls as they drove on.

"One of your Sunday-school class?" ventured the guest.

"No," replied the hostess, "my only son, Harry."

As they approached the home, they nearly overtook a girl of about fourteen and a middle-aged man, walking briskly. The man was listening in a deferential way to the girl's merry chatter. At the gate they paused, the man lifted his hat in a parting salutation as he held the gate for the girl to precede him, then bowing he passed on, as if hurried, not observing the approaching carriage.

"This is our home. That is my husband going to his office," said the hostess.

"And you have another guest — or is the young lady a caller?" asked the speaker.

"That is Marguerite, our eldest child. She and her father are great chums," replied the hostess.

At the daintily appointed tea-table, the youngest child had the misfortune to drop and break a fragile piece of china. Her face crimsoned with distress, and the violet eyes lifted to her mother's face were large with gathering tears. The guest winced, dreading discordant notes where all had been harmonious.

"I hope they will only send her away in disgrace — poor little thing!" her thought ran.

But even as she thought, the mother, with perfect courtesy, spoke the same conventional words of reassurance which she would have used had the honored guest broken the cup. Seeing the quivering lip of her cherished child — the guest from God — she added softly:

"Mother knows you are sorry, dearest. Just let it pass, and forget it," while the father, with ready tact, engaged the visitor in conversation. The visitor was charmed. — Anonymous.