FARNHEAD was a quiet little place on the sea shore, Far from the other houses stood a poor cottage; to, ward it a little boy was struggling along against the wind which was blowing a gale. The waves were dashing themselves up on the shore, making great clouds of spray. The boy looked as if he were in danger of being blown away but he struggled on till at last he reached the cottage, panting and breathless, and ran in the door.
“What wind, Mother! Did you ever know anything like it? It’s enough to blow anybody right off his feet!”
“It’s blowing a fearful gale, and no mistake,” answered the mother, beginning to get the tea ready, while the father sat in his chair by the fire, and remarked, “There’ll be plenty of wrecks at sea tonight. I’ve never seen such a sea as this in all the years we’ve lived here.”
So they all sat down to their supper; Polly, Joe, and the father and mother. But as soon as Joe was finished, he got up from the table and went to the window to watch the sea and the storm. Presently he uttered a little shriek that made the others rise to their feet.
“What is it, Joe? Whatever is it?” they cried.
“The sea,” he shouted, pointing out. “Look! It has come up around the side of the cottage.”
It was too true. There it was, stretching over the green fields, and when they ran to look out the back, it was there also. And now they were cut off, as if they were on an island, which indeed they were, as their house stood on a little rise of land and the sea raged all about them.
It was growing dark very quickly but there was light enough for them to see the danger they were in.
“John,” said Mrs. Frost, “do you think the water will rise any higher? If it does, what will become of us?”
“It isn’t high tide yet, and won’t be for an hour or more,” he answered.
Mrs. Frost grew pale.
“And the sea will go on rising all that time?” she said. “Why, John, it will wash our cottage away and us in it.”
The poor frail little house seemed as if it would blow away at any minute, as the wind roared down the chimney and shook every window.
“Is there NOTHING we can do?” asked Mother, clasping her children to her.
Father shook his head. “If the wind goes on driving up the sea against us like this, I see no hope for us. Nothing short of a miracle can save us.”
How long they sat thus in the dark, they did not know, when suddenly in the silence and the darkness, there came a dull, heavy sound, like something falling against the door, while the whole cottage seemed to tremble.
“What is it? Whatever is it?” cried Joe in terror.
“It must have been a big wave dashing against the door,” said Father, trying to peer out into the darkness but seeing nothing. “It’s coming up fast—faster than I counted for, to be breaking up against the door like this,”
Another crash, louder than the last, roused him.
“We must try to keep the door from being dashed in, or it will soon be all over with us,” he cried, starting up with sudden energy. “Help me drag this chest of drawers and put it against the door, and all the heavy things we have in the place. And you, Polly and Joe, lift that big box and put it against the window. We can’t have that dashed in, any more than the door.”
Suddenly Pony spoke, “Rather,” she said, “don’t you think the people at Farnhead will guess the danger we are in, and maybe come in a boat to rescue us?”
He shook his head in a slow way. “It isn’t likely,” he answered, “that anyone would ever think, any more than we did, of the water coming “F’ as far as this, and even if they did, Hu boat could live in a sea like this. Besides, it’s too dark to see to steer. It’s the darkest night I ever saw.”
But there was One who knew of the lonely family in such danger — only One to whom darkness is as the light, One who never slumbers nor sleeps nor forgets one of His creatures. He kept watch and cared for them, holding the waves and the sea in His hand.
Polly went over presently to where Joe was crouched on the floor and began to talk to him in a low voice.
“Joe,” she said, “aren’t you afraid? I am, dreadfully.”
“Afraid of being drowned?” asked Joe.
“Yes, and of dying, for I’m not fit to die. I’ve been a bad girl lots of times.”
“I’ve been a bad boy too,” Joe answered thoughtfully, “I’ve never really tried to be good like teacher talks about at Sunday school, loving God and trying to please Him, and I’m afraid to die.”
“Teacher was telling us this afternoon about a man who was going to be killed next day,” said Polly. “But he wasn’t a bit afraid and went off fast asleep as quietly as any other night. It was a wicked king who meant to kill him, but God wouldn’t let him and sent an angel to take the man out of prison. So he wasn’t killed after all.”
“Oh, I wish God would send an angel to take us safely out of this house. Do you think He would if we asked Him?”
ML-09/18/1960