Christian fiction; Neighborhoods -- Scotland -- Fiction
“He hasn’t said anything--has he?” I asked in positive alarm.
“O dear no. It may be all my fancy. I am only looking a little ahead.
I confess I should like him for a son-in-law. I approve of him,” she
added, with a sweet laugh.
“Well,” I said, “I suppose sons-in-law are possible, however
disagreeable, results of having daughters.”
I tried to laugh, but hardly succeeded.
“Harry,” said my wife, “I don’t like you in such a mood. It is not like
you at all. It is unworthy of you.”
“How can I help being anxious when you speak of such dreadful things as
the possibility of having to give away my daughter, my precious wonder
that came to me through you, out of the infinite--the tender little
darling!”
“‘Out of the heart of God,’ you used to say, Henry. Yes, and with a
destiny he had ordained. It is strange to me how you forget your best
and noblest teaching sometimes. You are always telling us to trust in
God. Surely it is a poor creed that will only allow us to trust in
God for ourselves--a very selfish creed. There must be something wrong
there. I should say that the man who can only trust God for himself is
not half a Christian. Either he is so selfish that that satisfies him,
or he has such a poor notion of God that he cannot trust him with what
most concerns him. The former is not your case, Harry: is the latter,
then?--You see I must take my turn at the preaching sometimes. Mayn’t I,
dearest?”
She took my hand in both of hers. The truth arose in my heart. I never
loved my wife more than at that moment. And now I could not speak for
other reasons. I saw that I had been faithless to my God, and the moment
I could command my speech, I hastened to confess it.
“You are right, my dear,” I said, “quite right. I have been wicked, for
I have been denying my God. I have been putting my providence in the
place of his--trying, like an anxious fool, to count the hairs on
Wynnie’s head, instead of being content that the grand loving Father
should count them. My love, let us pray for Wynnie; for what is prayer
but giving her to God and his holy, blessed will?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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