Christian life -- Fiction; Conduct of life -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"Mamma," said Ellen, "I think the greatest pleasure I shall have while
you are gone will be writing to you. I have been thinking of it a good
deal. I mean to tell you everything--absolutely everything, mamma. You
know there will be nobody for me to talk to as I do to you" (Ellen's
words came out with difficulty), "and when I feel badly I shall just
shut myself up and write to you." She hid her face in her mother's lap.
"I count upon it, my dear daughter. It will make quite as much the
pleasure of my life, Ellen, as of yours."
"But then, mother," said Ellen, brushing away the tears from her eyes,
"it will be so long before my letters can get to you! The things I want
you to know right away, you won't know perhaps in a month."
"That's no matter, daughter; they will be just as good when they do get
to me. Never think of that; write every day, and all manner of things
that concern you,--just as particularly as if you were speaking to me."
"And you'll write to me, too, mamma?"
"Indeed I will--when I can. But Ellen, you say that when I am away and
cannot hear you, there will be nobody to supply my place. Perhaps it
will be so indeed; but then, my daughter, let it make you seek that
friend who is never far away, nor out of hearing. Draw nigh to God, and
He will draw nigh to you. You know He has said of His children: 'Before
they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will
hear.'"
"But, mamma," said Ellen, her eyes filling instantly, "you know He is
not my friend in the same way that He is yours." And hiding her face
again, she added, "Oh, I wish He was!"
"You know the way to make Him so, Ellen, _He_ is willing; it only rests
with you. Oh, my child, my child! if losing your mother might be the
means of finding you that Better Friend, I should be quite willing--and
glad to go--for ever."
There was silence, only broken by Ellen's sobs. Mrs. Montgomery's voice
had trembled, and her face was now covered with her hands; but she was
not weeping; she was seeking a better relief where it had long been her
habit to seek and find it. Both resumed their usual composure, and the
employments which had been broken off, but neither chose to renew the
conversation. Dinner, sleeping, and company prevented their having
another opportunity during the rest of the day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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