Well, it was right funny, but soon after mother’s illness, Dr. Armstrong commenced his Friday evening lectures to the congregation “On Secular Matters,” as he said in his notice. Father took me to the first one, and I couldn’t help giving his hand a squeeze when he gave out the subject, “Debts: How They are Made, and How They May be Paid.” I can’t remember the words he used, which is a pity, but Dr. Armstrong’s words, as well as his thoughts, are forcible, but I know the sense of it all was that debts are generally commenced in a small way, little by little, little by little, they are added one to the other, till presently an account is presented to us of such overwhelming proportions that we despair of ever wiping it out. “But I trust,” he added, “that none of my friends who find themselves in this unhappy situation will give way for a moment to a feeling of discouragement. Step by step have we been led into trouble; let us retrace our way in like manner, step by step. Begin from this moment a system of judicious retrenchment; lay aside sums, never mind how trifling, toward the liquidation of your debt, and little by little it will melt away, till, almost unconsciously to yourself, it has disappeared, and you, again a free man, ‘can look the whole world in the face.’”
“Ah, that was practical! That was what I needed!” said father, as we came out after the lecture was over, “and I, for one, shall not ‘approve the doctrine and immediately practice the contrary.’ No; from this very moment I shall begin to retrench and put by. Ah, Annie, ‘a word in season,’ how good it is! I was almost ready to despair till now.”
And that was the beginning of our saving. First, coffee was given up; mother always drank tea, and so no one was inconvenienced by that but father; then butter was dispensed with, and the cheapest meat and vegetables in the market were selected, and mother decided that so many things were unnecessary about our clothes, that Katie declared after a while mother would think we could do without buttons on our dresses. But my happy part of the day, during all this anxious time, was the twilight when there was no work for me to do and I could run in and sit by Miss Judith’s bright little fire and talk over things with her. It was on one of these evenings, after Miss Judith’s usual greeting of, “Well, Martha, how has the work come on to-day?” that I said, “Indeed, Miss Judith, I wish I were not such a ‘Martha,’ and that I might ‘choose the better part,’ like Mary. But then, what can I do? Wouldn’t it be wrong for me to throw things on mother when she isn’t strong, and don’t you think our Saviour would think so, too? Then, besides, mother would have to be a ‘Martha,’ for the work must be done. I am sure it is all very puzzling to me, anyway.”