IT’S very hard to have nothing to eat but bread and milk, when others have every sort of nice things,” muttered Charlie, after he had eaten the contents of his wooden bowl and thrown himself upon the floor in a fit of spleen. “It’s very hard to have to get up so early on these cold mornings, and work hard all day, when others can enjoy themselves without an hour of labor. It’s very hard to have to trudge along through the snow while others roll about in their carriages.”
“It’s a great blessing,” said his mother, “to have food when so many are hungry; to have a roof over one’s head when so many are homeless. It’s a great blessing to have sight, and hearing, and strength for daily labor, when so many are blind, deaf or suffering.”
“Why, mother, you seem to think that nothing is hard,” said the boy, still in a grumbling tone.
“No, Charlie, there is one thing that I think very hard.”
“What’s that?” cried Charlie, who thought that at last his mother had found some cause of complaint.”
“Why, boy, I think that heart is very hard that is not thankful for so many blessings.”
ML 03/05/1916