"For,among the rich and gay,Fine,and grand,and decked in laces,None appear more glad then they,With happier hearts,or happier faces."Every one told mother for a week before the wedding that she would be sick when it was over,and sure enough she was.She had been on her feet too much,and had so many things to think about,and there had been such a dreadful amount of work for her and Candace,even after all the neighbours helped,that she was sick in bed and we couldn't find a thing she could eat,until she was almost wild with hunger and father seemed as if he couldn't possibly bear it a day longer.
After Candace had tried everything she could think of,I went up and talked it over with Sarah Hood,and she came down,pretending she happened in,and she tried thickened milk,toast and mulled buttermilk;she kept trying for two days before she gave up.
Candace thought of new things,and Mrs.Freshett came and made all the sick dishes she knew,but mother couldn't even taste them;so we were pretty blue,and we nearly starved ourselves,for how could we sit and eat everything you could mention,and mother lying there,almost crying with hunger?
Saturday morning I was hanging around her room hoping maybe she could think of some least little thing I could do for her,even if no more than to bring a glass of water,or a late rose to lay on her pillow;it would be better than not being able to do anything at all.After a while she opened her eyes and looked at me,and I scarcely knew her.She smiled the bravest she could and said:"Sorry for mother,dear?"I nodded.I couldn't say much,and she tried harder than ever to be cheerful and asked:"What are you planning to do to-day?""If you can't think of one thing I can do for you,guess I'll go fishing,"I said.
Her eyes grew brighter and she seemed half interested.
"Why,Little Sister,"she said,"if you can catch some of those fish like you do sometimes,I believe I could eat one of them."I never had such a be-hanged time getting started.I slipped from the room,and never told a soul even where I was going.I fell over the shovel and couldn't find anything quick enough but my pocket to put the worms in,and I forgot my stringer.At last,when I raced down the hill to the creek and climbed over the water of the deep place,on the roots of the Pete Billings yowling tree,I had only six worms,my apple sucker pole,my cotton cord line,and bent pin hook.I put the first worm on carefully,and if ever I prayed!Sometimes it was hard to understand about this praying business.My mother was the best and most beautiful woman who ever lived.She was clean,and good,and always helped "the poor and needy who cluster round your door,"like it says in the poetry piece,and there never could have been a reason why God would want a woman to suffer herself,when she went flying on horseback even dark nights through rain or snow,to doctor other people's pain,and when she gave away things like she did--why,I've seen her take a big piece of meat from the barrel,and a sack of meal,and heaps of apples and potatoes to carry to Mandy Thomas--when she gave away food by the wagonload at a time,God couldn't have WANTED her to be hungry,and yet she WAS that very minute almost crying for food;and I prayed,oh how I did pray!and a sneaking old back-ended crayfish took my very first worm.I just looked at the sky and said:"Well,when it's for a sick woman,can't You do any better than that?"I suppose I shouldn't have said it,but if it had been your mother,how would you have felt?I pinched the next worm in two,so if a crayfish took that,it wouldn't get but half.I lay down across the roots and pulled my bonnet far over my face and tried to see to the bottom.I read in school the other day:
"And by those little rings on the water I know The fishes are merrily swimming below."There were no rings on the water,but after a while I saw some fish darting around,only they didn't seem to be hungry;for they would come right up and nibble a tiny bit at my worm,but they wouldn't swallow it.Then one did,so I jerked with all my might,jerked so hard the fish and worm both flew off,and I had only the hook left.I put on the other half and tried again.I prayed straight along,but the tears would come that time,and the prayer was no powerful effort like Brother Hastings would have made;it was little torn up pieces mostly:"O Lord,please do make only one fish bite!"At last one did bite good,so I swung carefully that time,and landed it on the grass,but it was so little and it hit a stone and was killed.I had no stringer to put it back in the water to keep cool,and the sun was hot that day,like times in the fall.Stretched on the roots,with it shining on my back,and striking the water and coming up from below,I dripped with heat and excitement.
I threw that one away,put on another worm,and a big turtle took it,the hook,and broke my line,and almost pulled me in.I wouldn't have let go if it had,for I just had to have a fish.
There was no help from the Lord in that,so I quit praying,only what I said when I didn't know it.Father said man was born a praying animal,and no matter how wicked he was,if he had an accident,or saw he had just got to die,he cried aloud to the Lord for help and mercy before he knew what he was doing.
