“Sue looked up again, not so brightly as once before; meekly, and rather tearfully.
“‘And then I must leave you to-morrow,’ said her father, kissing her brow;—‘that seems just now the worst of all.’
“‘Maybe you’ll come back again, father,’ said Sue.
“‘I am afraid I shall not—till this trial is over.’
“‘It’s a disagreeable business; isn’t it, father?’
“‘Very disagreeable—as ugly as can be to look at.’
“‘Maybe there’ll some good come of it, somehow, after all,’ said Sue, in her twilight voice.
“‘Good will be the end of it,’ said the cobbler. ‘There’s a kind hand doing it, and an almighty arm upholding us in it; we shall not be utterly cast down: so we must bear to be poor, and to be sick, and to be separated; and just leave it all with God.’
“‘Father, it’s pleasant to do that,’ said Sue; but you could know by the tone of her words that she was crying a little.
“‘Why, darling, if we _are_ poor, and sick, and in trouble, we have our dear Saviour, and we know that the Lord is our God. We are not poor people,—not we. ‘Having nothing, and yet possessing all things.’ Who would we change with, Sue?’
“She had to wait a little while before she spoke, but then she said,—
“‘No more would I,’ said the cobbler, giving her another kiss.
“And so they went to bed, a couple of very rich poor people.
“But the house looked poor the next day; empty and cold. The cobbler was off betimes; the little breakfast-fire died out; dust lay on the counter; the tools and the unfinished work were here and there; the wind slipped in and slipped out again; and nothing else paid us a visit, except Sue, who once or twice looked in and looked round, as if to see whether her father were there. Once she came into the room and stood a few minutes, with her little brown head and quiet grave face, looking at the ashes in the fire-place, and the neglected work, and her father’s chair, with a wistful sort of eye. It said, or seemed to say, that however she felt last night, she would be very glad to-day if they were not poor, nor sick, nor separated. She looked pale and weary, too; but she did not stay long to rest or think. Her feet could be heard now and then up-stairs. The cobbler did not come home; the night darkened upon just such an afternoon as the morning had been.