When I was a gal, ef I got low in my mind, or riled in my temper, I
jest went out and grubbed in the gardin, or made hay, or walked a
good piece, and it fetched me round beautiful. Never failed; so I
come to see that good fresh dirt is fust rate physic for folk's
spirits as it is for wounds, as they tell on."
"That sounds sensible and pleasant, and I like it. Oh, it is so
beautiful to feel that somebody cares for you a little bit, and you
ain't one too many in the world," sighed Christie.
"Don't you never feel that agin, my dear. What's the Lord for ef He
ain't to hold on to in times of trouble. Faith ain't wuth much ef
it's only lively in fair weather; you've got to believe hearty and
stan' by the Lord through thick and thin, and He'll stan' by you as
no one else begins to. I remember of havin' this bore in upon me by
somethin' that happened to a man I knew. He got blowed up in a
powder-mill, and when folks asked him what he thought when the bust
come, he said, real sober and impressive: 'Wal, it come through me,
like a flash, that I'd served the Lord as faithful as I knew how for
a number a years, and I guessed He'd fetch me through somehow, and
He did.' Sure enough the man warn't killed; I'm bound to confess he
was shook dreadful, but his faith warn't.
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