What a beautiful glow was upon her young countenance! She was the very image of health and cheerfulness.
When I met Wightman in the street, I thought his countenance wore something of a troubled aspect--this was the first impression made upon me. Now, as I looked into his face, and listened to his cheerful, animated conversation, so full of life"s true philosophy, I could not but feel an emotion of wonder. "Very poor!" How little did old friends, who covered their neglect of this family with these commiserating words, know of their real state. How little did they dream that sweet peace folded her wings in that humble dwelling nightly; and that morning brought to each a cheerful, resolute spirit, which bore them bravely through all their daily toil.
"How are you getting along now Wightman?" I asked, as, after bidding good evening to his pleasant family, I stood with him at the gate opening from the street to his modest dwelling.
"Very well," was his cheerful reply. "It was up hill work for several years, when I only received five hundred dollars salary as clerk, and all my children were young. But now, two of them are earning something, and I receive eight hundred dollars instead of five. We have managed to save enough to buy this snug little house.
The last payment was made a month since. I am beginning to feel rich."
And he laughed a pleasant laugh.
"Very poor," I said to myself, musingly, as I walked away from the humble abode of the Wightmans. "Very poor. The words have had a wrong application."
On the next day I met Payson.
"I spent last evening with the Wightmans," said I.
"Indeed! How did you find them? Very poor, of course."
"I have not met a more cheerful family for years. No, Mr. Payson they are not "_very poor_," for they take what the great Father sends, and use it with thankfulness. _Those who ever want more than they possess are the very poor._ But such are not the Wightmans."
Payson looked at me a moment or two curiously, and then let his eyes fall to the ground. A little while he mused. Light was breaking in upon him.
"Contented and thankful!" said he, lifting his eyes from the ground.
"Ah! my friend, if I and mine were only contented and thankful!"
"You have cause to be," I remarked. "The great Father hath covered your table with blessings."
"And yet we are poor--VERY POOR," said he, "for we are neither contented nor thankful. We ask for more than we possess, and, because it is not given, we are fretful and impatient. Yes, yes--we, not the Wightmans, are poor--very poor."
And with these words on his lips, my old friend turned from me, and walked slowly away, his head bent in musing att.i.tude to the ground.
Not long afterwards, I heard that he had failed.
"Ah!" thought I, when this news reached me, "now you are poor, VERY poor, indeed!" And it was so.