MERRILY ran little Trottie of scarcely three summers, by the side of her young friend through country fields and lanes, till she reached a pond over which she leaned in rather a dangerous way. "Come along, Trottie dear—don't go so near the pond. Oh, you must come away," said her companion, in some fear. "I only want to see if there are any of Jesus' dear little fishes in the pond to-day. Don't you know which they are? those very little tiny fishes I mean. I asked mamma once if Jesus made them, and she said ' Yes.' So they are His, you know, and He feeds them and takes care of them all day long, and they are so pretty.”
But you might tumble into the pond, dear; I am afraid you will, and then very likely will be drowned.”
"Oh no, I don't think I shall," the little one replied, very composedly; " or if I did, I 'pect the kind Lord Jesus would let someone lift me out again, or even if He didn't I should not mind so very much, 'cause then I should only go up to live with Him forever, and that would be so nice, wouldn't it? I often wish I could go.”
After watching with great delight the minnows sporting in the pond, still giving them the name of "Jesus' dear little fishes,” the happy child ran on contentedly.
The love of Jesus seemed so to fill her baby heart that anything and everything that had to do with Him had an attraction for her. Dear little ones, can you say I love God because He first loved me, and then can you go on to love and admire all His works?
The beauties of creation—the pretty flowers—the waving trees—the birds in the woods—the fish in the ponds all speak to us of the Lord Jesus who made them. "All things were made by Him," the word of God says. I often think of my little friend Trottie, and of her trust in the blessed Saviour. "The Lord Jesus is near. He will take care of me." "He made this—how beautiful it is!" And I think how often the Lord Jesus spoke with approval of the spirit of a little child. E. G.