She wanted the
little time left to be filled with those things that would make their
pathway light.
The evening passed, and after a time all were in their beds. Only one low
light remained, and that was set to guide the father when he should return.
When the father came, if he had been in condition to notice, he would have
seen a bare little room now that the mother was out of it, with signs of
poverty everywhere. The old table and worn chairs, bare floors scarred with
the tread of little feet, the scant cupboard, the worn shoes by the fire,
all told how little the queen of the home had to work with. There was
nothing of beauty here but herself and her love.
But Henry Hill did not think any of these thoughts. He was already half
asleep, and he crawled into his bed without a word or thought for those
whom he should have loved and protected. And in the morning each one of the
family secretly thanked God that Father had lain down without disturbing
them.
The morning brought another day of busy care for Elizabeth Hill. Her hands
were full from morning till night helping, lifting the heavy burdens, and
directing the work of the children, in all bearing the responsibility of
the family.
Was she happy? Yes, in their love, and in the anticipation of the future of
her children, especially her boys just entering manhood. Her thoughts were
always with them, and her prayers followed them in all that they did. So
much was at stake.
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