Little Joe. Part 3.
I told you of some of the trials which our settlers had to endure that first winter; but when spring came, and the flowers and birds were seen again the children, forgot all they had gone through, and once more rejoiced in their free, careless life. I dare say you would have thought it fine fun to have no lessons, and no school, but to run about without shoes, or stockings, or hat, picking wild strawberries, gathering huge bunches of all kinds of wild flowers, or dabbling in the pretty brook behind the house.
But these sports were only for the girls. Joe was now 12 years old, and it was time he earned his own living, so all summer through he worked for one settler or another. I cannot tell you much about where he went, for this story is every word true, and I cannot tell you more than I know. However when September came, he was hired by a young man, who lived some miles from Joe’s home. The young man told him that he was going away for a few days, and wanted him to stay with his sister, and do the “chores” in his absence.
Mr. Brown left his home late in the evening, and early next morning Joe’s difficulties began.
“I suppose you can milk?” said Miss Brown. Joe was obliged to own that milking Was not one of his accomplishments.
“I might try,” said his mistress, “but I am dreadfully afraid of the cow.” Joe was silent for a moment, then a bright thought struck him.
“Supposing” he remarked, “we tie her up, and I will cut up beets, and feed her a little piece at a time, while you milk.”
This plan seemed to commend itself, and they went together to the stable but I fear the milking was a long and tedious business. Next the pigs and chickens had to be fed, and then Joe was set to clean a little box stove, which was to assist in warming the log cabin during the coming winter.
“And if you do it really well, Joe,” said his young mistress, “I will make you a nice little jam tart.” The idea seemed encouraging, and soon the little stove shone brightly.
“Now” said Miss Brown, “we can sit down, and talk awhile.”
Joe was surprised, but he was quite ready to answer all the questions put to him. He told all about his little home, and the children, with their names and ages; about the hard times they had had during the past winter, and all their plans and hopes for the future. When all was told, she asked him one more question, “As you cannot read, do you know anything about the Bible?” Joe shook his head, he had never heard of that book.
“You have heard about God?” Again the boy looked puzzled, but a minute after he said, “He made us, didn’t He?”
“Yes, indeed, He did, and He did far more than that for us, he sent His only Son into the world to die for us. Can von tell me, who God’s Son was?” But Joe had never heard of Jesus. That name which is above every name, was strange to him. He listened eagerly, though, as the wonderful story was told to him, the old, old story of how God so loved the world, loved His poor fallen sinful creatures, so much, that He sent His only Son, His well-beloved, into this world; the story of how there was no room for Him in the inn, and His cradle was a manger; the story of how the angels came to tell the glorious news of a Saviour’s birth to the poor shepherds; the story of His wonderful life down here, ending with His death on that shameful cross, where He willingly gave up His life, and endured the punishment of our sins. You, dear children, have heard this story often. Has it the same interest for you, that it had for poor ignorant little Joe?
ML 05/20/1906