"'Ah, lads, every situation has its advantages, if we will but look for them,' he remarked; and I have often since thought of that saying of his.
"On we went, the mate leading, the men often unwilling to proceed till he uttered a few words of encouragement. At last the sun's rays, bursting out from between the clouds, fell on some green grass which clothed the side of a hill before us. It was a welcome sight; and still more welcome was the sight of a herd of cattle which appeared before us as we got clear of the burnt district. It was important not to frighten them. We advanced carefully, the two men with lassoes leading, hiding ourselves among rocks and bushes, and keeping to leeward of the herd. To our great satisfaction, the animals as they fed moved on towards us. Suddenly the men with the lassoes threw them round the neck of a cow, the nearest animal to us. We sprang forward, laying hold of the ends, one party hauling one way, one the other. In spite of all her violent struggles, we had her fast, and one of the men, rushing in, hamstrung her, and she was in our power. This capture raised our spirits, for we felt sure that we should never want food on the island, as we might catch the oxen in pitfalls if not with lassoes. The mate was asked how he came to suppose that there were cattle on the island.
"'Just because a shipmate, in whose word I could trust, told me he had seen them,' was the answer. 'What better reason for believing a thing would you require?'
"We camped where we were, and the South American showed us how to cut up the heifer and to dry the meat in the sun, so that we had as much pure meat as each of us could carry. As our companions had enough food for some days longer, the mate wished to see more of the island before returning. We saw several large herds of cattle, which fed on the long grass covering the face of the country, which was generally undulating. We were several days away, and as we caught sight of the flagstaff, we thought of the pleasure the supply of meat we had brought would afford our companions. We saw the tents, but no one came to meet us. We shouted, but there was no shout in return. We feared that they might be ill, or even dead. We reached the tent, but no one was within; we looked about, we could find no one. The mate was looking seaward. He pointed to the offing, where, sinking below the horizon, the white sail of a ship was seen. It was more than probable that our shipmates had gone in her, but whether with their own will or carried off by force we could not conjecture. Some of the men were very angry, but the mate observed that was wrong. Our shipmates, probably, could not help themselves. They might have supposed we should not return, and, if they had gone with their own will, might have been unable to leave any message for us. The mate was a truly charitable man, for he was anxious to put the best construction on the conduct of our shipmates. There, however, we were left, with a diminished party, with the possibility that another ship might not approach the coast for many months to come. The summer was drawing to a close. It had been somewhat damp and cold, and we expected that the winter would be proportionally severe.
"'We may get off, but we may possibly have to stay; and if we are wise, lads, we shall prepare for the worst,' said the mate; and telling the men what would be wanted, forthwith began the work he advised.
"We were to build a couple of huts, to cut and dry turf for fuel, and to kill some cattle and prepare the flesh; to hunt for vegetables or herbs, which might keep off scurvy, and to do various other things.
"'Example is better than precept, Tom, as you will find,' observed the mate to me. 'I never tell men to do what I am not ready to do myself. That's the reason they obey me so willingly.'
"I've ever since remembered the mate's words, and told them to Mr Morgan; and I am sure he never orders men to do what he is not ready to try and do himself if necessary. It was fortunate for all that the mate's advice was followed. Some comfortable huts were got up, and a store of provisions and fuel collected before the winter began. It set in with unusual seventy, and I believe that we should all have perished from cold, and damp, and snow, had we not been prepared, though I do not remember that the frost was hard at any time.
"Some of the men abused their companions for going away without them.
"'Let be,' said the mate; 'all's for the best. We don't know where they are now, but we do know that we are not badly off, with a house, clothing, food, and firing. These islands are not so much out of the way, but what we are certain to get off some day or other, and in the meantime we have no cause to complain. Let us rather be thankful, and rejoice that we are so well off.'
"I remembered those words of the mate afterwards. It is now my belief that the mate was a God-fearing man, but religion had been so unpopular among those with whom he had sailed, that he was afraid of declaring his opinions, and just went and hid his light under a bushel. What a world of good he might have done us all if he had spoken out manfully! As it was, all that precious time was lost. The mate did speak to me occasionally, but timidly, and I did not understand him. How should I? It was not till long afterwards, as Mr Morgan knows, that I became acquainted with Christianity. Before that I was as a heathen; I knew nothing of Christ, nothing of God. The winter passed away, the spring returned, and the summer drew on, and not a sail had been seen. All hands became anxious to get off, and from early dawn till nightfall the flag was kept flying, and one or more of the party were on the lookout from Flagstaff Hill. At length a sail hove in sight. Nearer and nearer she came. 'Would our flag be seen?' was now the question. The wind was off the shore, she tacked, she was beating up towards us. From her white canvas and the length of her yards she was pronounced to be a man-of-war corvette, and her ensign showed us that she was English. Some of the men declared that they would rather live the rest of their days on the island than go on board a man-of-war; but the mate told them that they were very foolish, and that if they did their duty they would be better treated than on board most merchantmen. I shared their fears, for I had heard all sorts of stones about the treatment of men on board men-of-war, which I have since found to be absurdly false. The end was that we all stood ready to receive the boat when she reached the beach. A lieutenant with a midshipman came in her. They were very much surprised to hear that we had been a whole year on shore, observing that we must have saved a good supply of provisions from the wreck. When the mate told them of the wild cattle, and that we could catch some, they begged us to do so, saying that the purser would purchase the meat from us for the ship's company. They accordingly returned on board, but soon came back with the butcher, and by the next day we had six or eight fine animals ready for them. The officer kindly gave us permission to carry off any of our property which could be stowed away on board. From the considerate treatment the men received, they all volunteered into the service, and I was rated as a ship's boy, and from that day to this have belonged to the Royal Navy of England. The mate was promised promotion if he would join.
"'At all events I do not wish to eat the bread of idleness,' was his answer. 'I'll do duty in any station to which I am appointed.'
"The corvette was bound round the Horn, so back again into the Pacific I went. We touched at many places in Chili and Peru, and then stood to the west to visit some of the many islands in those seas. I had been about a year on board when one day an object was seen from the mast-head, which was made out to be a boat.
"There was one man sitting up in her, but three others lay dead under the thwarts. The man was brought on board more dead than alive, and had it not been for the watchful care of our surgeon he could not have long survived. At first he was nothing but skin and bone, with sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, but when he got some flesh on him I recognised him as one of my shipmates who had deserted us on the Falkland Islands. He had not, it seemed, discovered any of us, and of course in two years I was so grown that he did not know me. So one day, sitting by him, I asked him how it was he came into the plight in which we found him. He told me many circumstances of which I was cognisant, and how the ship was wrecked on the Falklands, and how part of the people had gone off into the interior, and deserted those who wisely remained on the sea-shore. 'Never mind, they must have got their deserts, and perished,' he added; and then he told me a ship appearing the day after we left, they had all gone on board. They soon found that the crew had been guilty of some foul deed; the captain and mate had been killed, with some others, and the rest had determined to turn pirates. My shipmate was asked if he would do so. They swore if he did not that he must die. To save his life, he with the rest consented to join them. I will not repeat the account he gave of all the crimes which he and his companions had committed. He said that he had protested against them, and excused himself. From bad they went on to worse, and frequently quarrelling, murdered each other. The end was that this ship was cast away on a reef, one boat only escaping, and of the people in her, after she had been nearly a month drifting over the ocean, he alone survived. We who had been left alone on the Falklands had reason to be thankful that we had not gone off in the pirate ship. Had we done so, who among us could have said that we should have escaped the terrible fate which overtook our shipmates? From the time I learned the Lord's Prayer, there is no part I have repeated more earnestly than 'Lead us not into temptation.' My poor shipmate never completely recovered from the hardships to which he had been exposed; his mind, too, was always haunted with the dreadful scenes he had witnessed, and he often told me that he never could show his face in England, lest he should be recognised by those he had wronged. He died the day before we made the coast of England. The ship was paid off, but I found the naval service so much to my taste, and there was so little on shore to attract me, that I the next day joined another fitting out for the Indian station. After this, I visited in one ship or another most parts of the world. But I think, Doctor Morgan, you and your lady and the young gentlefolks will be getting tired, so I'll put off an account of my adventures till another evening. One thing I must say now, though. I looked upon it as a blessed day on which I joined the 'Rover,' where I met Mister Morgan, and yet there was a day which I have reason to call still more blessed, when we were off the coast of Africa."
"Well, well, Tom. Don't talk of that now," said Frank. "I just did what every Christian man should do. I put the truth before you, and you believed it. I did not put myself to any inconvenience even to serve Tom, while he risked his life to save mine. That was after the 'Rover' had come home and been paid off, and we belonged to the 'Kestrel,' and were sent out to the Pacific. I had an idea before we went there that we were to find at all times calm seas and sunshine. I soon discovered my mistake. We were caught in a terrific gale when in the neighbourhood of coral islands and reefs. I had gone aloft to shorten sail, when the ship gave an unexpected lurch, and I was sent clean overboard. I felt that I must be lost, for the ship was driving away from me, and darkness was not far off, when I saw that some one had thrown a grating into the sea, and immediately afterwards a man leaped in after it. He was swimming towards me. There seemed a prospect of my being saved. Still, how the man who had thus nobly risked his life for my sake, and I could ever regain the ship, I could not tell. I struck out with all my strength to support myself, and prayed heartily. I soon recognised Tom Holman's voice, cheering me up. He clutched me by the collar, and aided by him I gained the grating. Two or three spars had been thrown in after it, and, getting hold of them we formed a raft which supported us both. By the time we were seated on it the ship was far away, and it seemed impossible that in the dangerous neighbourhood in which I knew that we were, the captain would venture to return on the mere chance of finding us, should we indeed be alive. Our prospect outwardly was gloomy indeed, though we kept up hope. I was sorry when I thought that we should be lost; that Tom had, as I fancied, thrown away his life for my sake. However, we will not talk of that now. We were drifting, that was certain, and might drift on shore, or we might be driven against a reef, when we must be lost. It was now night, though there was light enough to distinguish the dark white-crested seas rising up around us, and the inky sky overhead. Still we knew that there was the Eye of Love looking down on us through that inky sky, and that though the rest of the world was shut out from us, we were not shut out from Him, without whose knowledge not a sparrow falls to the ground. I say this to you, dear father and mother, because I wish to show my brothers and sisters the effect of your teaching. I wished to live, but I was prepared to die. The water was warm, and as we had had supper just before I fell overboard we were not hungry, so that our physical sufferings were as yet not great. Hour after hour passed by; the raft drove on before the wind and sea. We supposed that it must be near dawn, for it seemed as if we had been two whole nights on the raft, when we both heard the sound of breakers. Our fate would soon thus be decided. As far as we were able, we gazed around when we reached the summit of a sea. There were the breakers; we could see the white foam flying up like a vast waterspout against the leaden sky. We were passing it though, not driving against it. A current was sweeping us on. The dawn broke. As the light increased our eyes fell on a grove of cocoa-nut trees, rising it seemed directly out of the water. The current was driving us near them. We sat up and eagerly watched the shore; we had of ourselves no means of forcing on the raft a point towards it, or in any degree faster than we were going. Had we been driven directly towards it, on the weather side, which, in our eagerness, we might have wished, we should probably have been dashed to pieces; but the current took us round to the lee side, and finally drifted us into a little bay where we safely got on shore. You already know how we lived luxuriously on cocoa-nuts and shell-fish, and about the clear fountain which rushed up out of the rock in the centre of our island, and how our ship came back after some weeks to water at that very fountain, and found us safe and well; and so I will bring my yarn to an end."
"We cannot be too thankful that you were preserved, my dear boy, when we hear of the terrific dangers to which you and your brave friend were exposed," exclaimed Dr Morgan. "I will not now speak of our debt to him, never properly to be repaid, but I would point out to you all, my children (what struck me as Frank was speaking), how like the way in which he and Tom were preserved, is that in which God deals with His people who put their trust in Him. We are in an ocean of troubles, with darkness around us. We dimly discern breakers rising up on one side, breakers ahead. We can do nothing to help ourselves, except pray on and trust in Him. We see at length a haven of safety before us. Our eagerness gets the better of our faith, but the current of His mercy drifts round and away from what is really a peril, and we are carried on into calm waters, and find shelter and rest from danger and trouble."
Note 1. The author has a dear friend, a naval officer, who was, as is here described, the instrument of bringing some of his shipmates to a knowledge and acceptance of the truth; one especially, from being an infidel, became a faithful follower of Christ. His bones lie sepulchred under the eternal snows of the Arctic pole. How consolatory to believe, that amid the fearful sufferings that gallant band was called on to endure, he, with many others—it may be all—were supported by faith and hope to the last. We say all, for we cannot say what influence he and other Christian men may have exerted over their companions during the long, long years they passed in those Arctic regions ere they perished.
Several circumstances had prevented the young Morgans from paying a sufficiently long visit to Old Moggy to enable her to give them her promised history. Jenny reported that she was better in mind and body than she had ever known her, and as the time for Frank and Tom's departure was drawing near, the whole party resolved to go up to hear her tale. They did not fail to carry a few little luxuries which were likely to please her. They found her as usual, seated before her fire, for even in the summer she seemed to enjoy its warmth, on that bleak hill's side. What with chairs, benches, and stools, a log of wood, a pile of turf, and a boulder which Charley rolled in, all found seats. Anna had to exercise a little diplomacy to induce Moggy to begin before so formidable an audience. The poor creature was inclined to chide Tom for not having come up oftener to see her, when she discovered that he was going away.
"I took a liking to your face and your manner my son, from the first minute my eyes fell on you; and it would have been a slight thing for ye to have come up and cheered the old woman's well-nigh withered heart," she observed, in a more testy tone than she was accustomed to use.
"Well, mother, don't blame me," answered Tom. "Many's the time I've come round this way, but feared to intrude, or I would have come in, and I'll not now miss the chance another time."
This promise seemed to satisfy Moggy, and after a little hesitation she began.
"Once I was blithe and gay as any of you dear young people. I had a home, and parents, and sisters. There were three of us, as pretty and as merry as any to be found in the country around. We merrily grew up into happy maidens, as merry as could be found, and the glass told us, even if others had been silent, that we were as pretty too. We sang and laughed from morn till night, and, alack, were somewhat thoughtless too; but we were not idle. Our parents had a farm, and we helped our mother in the dairy, and there was plenty of work for us. It was a pleasant life. We were up with the lark and to bed in summer with the sun, and in winter we sat by the fire when the cows were housed and the milk was set in the pans, and all our out-door work was done, and knitted or spun, or plied our needles, and chatted and sung; and guests came in, and some of them came to woo; and we thought not of the morrow, and taught ourselves to believe that the pleasant life we led would never have an end. Ah! we were foolish—like the foolish virgins who had no oil for their lamps, as all are foolish who think only of the present, and prepare not for the future. Bad times were in store for us, such as all farmers must be ready to encounter. Storms injured the crops, and disease attacked our cattle; a fire broke out in the farm buildings; and the end was that father had to throw up the farm, to sell his remaining stock, and to go forth almost penniless into the world. Barely enough remained to pay our passage to America. I was about to go with the rest of my family, when one I had loved right well, an honest, steady youth, entreated me to remain. He might soon have enough to wed. He had a sick mother whom he could not leave, or he would have gone with us. If I went we might never meet again. I consented to remain, so that I could obtain service in which to support myself. A kind, good mistress engaged me. She was more than kind, she was wise; not worldly wise, but her wisdom was from above. She taught me that wisdom. By her means my eyes were opened to things about which I before knew nothing. I saw that God had dealt mercifully with me; that what I thought was a misfortune was a blessing. I was thus led out of darkness into light. I was happy, with a new happiness of which I before knew nothing. My intended husband enjoyed it likewise; we both embraced the truth—my only sorrow being that those who had gone away knew nothing of it. Thomas lived at a distance, but whenever he could he came over to see me. My kind, good mistress often spoke to him, and approved of my choice. Time wore on. We waited to hear of those who had crossed the sea. Sad tidings came at length. My mother had died on the voyage. My father, heart-broken, and my sisters had landed and found a home, but they missed her who had been their guide and their friend; and they wanted me to go out and join them, and some cousins who lived a few miles off from where I was at service, and Thomas also, if he would marry me. I told my kind mistress.
"'If Thomas loves you, and will take you to that foreign land, I will not say you nay,' was her reply.
"She gave me leave to go and deliver the message to my cousins, charging me soon to return. My cousins were not averse to my sister's proposal, and talked with pleasure of the many kindred who would meet in that far-off settlement, for far off it seemed to them. On my return I found the front door of my mistress's house closed. I went round and gained an entrance through a window at the back. What was my horror to find her bathed in blood, fallen from the arm-chair in which she sat before the fire. I kneeled down to examine where she had been hurt, and was about to raise her up when the door was burst open; some men rushed in; I was seized. No one aided my dear mistress. A surgeon at length came. He pronounced her dead. These cruel men had allowed her to die unaided. I was accused of being her murderess. My horror, my indignation, at the way she had been treated, my grief, my agitation, impressed them with the conviction that I was guilty of the foul crime which had been committed; for murdered she had been, of that there was no doubt. Branded as a murderess I was borne off to prison. Many thought me guilty. It was cruelly said that I was found red-handed by the side of my victim. But even in prison I sought support, and obtained it whence alone it was to be afforded. As King David, I could say, 'I have washed my hands in innocency. I cried unto the Lord and He heard me.' Oh, my young friends, keep innocency. Do what is right in the sight of the Lord, and never need you fear what man can do unto you. There was one, however, on earth who knew me to be innocent—my Thomas. He obtained leave to visit me in prison, obtained the best legal aid by the sacrifice of his savings, and the evidence against me broke completely down. I was acquitted. I scarcely knew how, or what occurred. I entreated Thomas to let me become his wife, that I might repay him by devoting my life to his service. We married; we were happy; and by watchful care I was enabled to make his wages go farther than before his marriage. More than a year had passed away; we had a child born, a son. We believed that he would prove a blessing to us. Some few more years had fled by. Again and again my sisters urged that we would go out to join them. At length they were both about to marry, and our father would be left alone. Thomas agreed to go. I thought with delight of showing my young son to my father, of assisting and supporting him in his old age, and more than all, of imparting to him those blessed truths which I myself had found such a comfort to my soul. We sailed in as fine a ship as ever put to sea, with many others about to seek their fortunes in the New World; but scarcely had we left the shores of England a hundred leagues astern than we encountered a fearful gale, which washed away the bulwarks and some of our boats, strained the hull, and shattered our masts and spars. It was but the beginning of disasters. But, dear young people, I cannot dwell on that most grievous period of my existence. The storm had injured our provisions. After the storm came a calm, more dreadful than the storm; our water began to run short. Did any of you ever feel the pangs of thirst? Day after day our shattered bark lay rolling on the burning ocean. There was the constant gush of water to tantalise us, for by undiscovered leaks the sea had found an entrance, and in every watch the pumps were kept at work. We were thankful when a breeze came, and once more the ship moved across the ocean; but the breeze increased into a gale more fearful than the first. On, on we drove; the leaks again increased. Day and night the men were kept toiling at the pumps; my husband worked like the rest. In vain, in vain; they could work no longer; the water was gaining on us; the raging seas were washing over our decks. The strength of the men was exhausted. Some of the women offered to try and work the pumps. The night was coming on. I resolved to labour, that I might aid to save my husband's life, our boy's, my own.
"My boy had clung to me. I gave him, so I thought, to his father, to watch over, while I laboured like the rest. Would you hear what occurred? My heart has grown into stone, or I could not bear to tell it. The raging seas broke more and more frequently over the ship. The dreadful cry arose, 'The ship is sinking, the ship is sinking!' I flew towards my husband—my child was not with him. He had not received him from me. Frantically I rushed along the deck; it was with no hope of safety, but to die with my boy in my arms. Once more I was approaching my husband; a flash of lightning revealed him to me at the moment that a vast sea came sweeping down on the ship. It seized him in its cruel embrace, and bore him far, far away, with many other helpless, shrieking beings. Thankfully would I have followed, but I sought my boy. In vain, in vain! I felt myself seized by a strong arm, and lifted into a boat. I lost all consciousness for the next instant, it seemed. I found the boat floating alone amid the tumultuous waves. My husband and my boy were gone. They said there were other boats, and that some might have been saved in them. I know not if any were saved. Neither my husband nor our child did I ever again see; the cold, cruel waves had claimed them. For many days we lay tossed about on the foaming waters. We were more dead than alive when a sail appeared in sight. How I lived I know not; it was, I believe, because all my feelings were dead. I felt nothing, thought of nothing; I was in a dream, a cold, heavy weight lay on my heart and brain. I knew not what was going on; the past was a blank, the future was darkness. We were lifted on board—carefully tended. The ship was bound, with settlers, to the same port to which I was going. Those who had been saved with me told my story. Some of the passengers were going to the far-off West, to the very spot where my father and sisters had settled. Their hearts were touched with compassion by my misfortunes, and they bore me with them. Truly they were followers of the good Samaritan. Day after day we journeyed on towards the setting sun. At length we reached my father's house; he and my sisters scarcely knew me, so great was the havoc grief had wrought. Kind and gentle treatment by degrees thawed my long frozen faculties, and I began to take an interest in the affairs of the farm. In that region the native tribes, the red men of the prairie, were fierce and warlike, and often were engaged in deadly contests with the whites. Years—many years, passed by, during which our people enjoyed peace. A storm, however, was brewing, to burst with fury on our heads. It came; in the dead of night the dreadful war-whoop of the red men was heard. On every side arose those horrid cries. Our village was surrounded; young and old, men and maidens, were ruthlessly murdered. My old father and sisters were among the first slain. Some few bravely made a stand. They fought their way out through the savages. I felt my arm seized by some friendly hand, and was borne on amid them. Armed friends came to our assistance, and the savages were driven back through the smoking ruins of our home. All, all were gone; relatives, friends, and property. Those who had accompanied me to the country, all, all were gone. I was among strangers; they pitied me, but pity cannot last long in the human breast. There is only One whose tender pity never wanes; and it is only that human pity which arises from love of Him which can stand all tests, and can endure for ever. I was left alone, alone in that far-off land. My reason gave way. An idea had seized me—it was to visit that mighty ocean beneath which slept my husband and my child. I wandered on. I know not how I found my way, often through vast solitudes where foot of man but rarely trod, till I reached the more settled states. Food and shelter were rarely denied to the poor mad woman, though of the roughest sort. At length I reached the eastern cities; scant was the charity I found within them, I gained the sea-coast; I gazed upon the ocean, with its majestic billows rolling up from the far-off east. They seemed to me like mighty monuments raised to the memory of those who slept beneath. For many years I had lived on that wild sea waste, when I was seized and carried to a prison. I demanded to know my crime. I heard myself branded as a pauper lunatic, and was placed on board a ship to be returned to my native land. Sad, sad was my heart. I had many companions in my misery—helpless beings whom the strong new world would not receive. We were placed on shore to starve, or live as best we could. I wandered on towards the spot where long, long years before, I had lived a happy maiden. No one knew me; I was branded as a witch, and fled away. Should I go to the relatives of my husband? Thomas had spoken of them as kind and charitable. I reached the village; every one looked at me with suspicion as a vagrant. Well they might, for a vagrant I was, poor, wretched, and despised. I had been there in my happy days with Thomas; but the place itself looked strange. I inquired for his father, Farmer Holman. 'Dead many a year ago; all the rest gone away; never held up his head since his son went off with that jade who murdered her mistress.' Such was the answer I received. The words fell like molten lead upon my brain. I fled away. I wandered on, not knowing whither I was going, till I reached these sheltering walls on the mountain-side."
Tom had been greatly agitated on hearing the name of Holman. Frank and Anna had exchanged surprised glances with each other.
"Dame, do you remember the name of Jack Johnson on board the ship which foundered with so many on board?" asked Tom.
"Ay, that I do. He was one who took a great fancy to my precious boy," answered Moggy, gazing earnestly at Tom.
"It is strange, mother, but such was the name of a kind seaman who for many years acted as a second father to me; and still stranger, that he always called me Tom Holman," exclaimed Tom, as he sat himself down on the stool at her feet, and drawing a tin case from his pocket, took from it a variety of small articles, which he placed in her lap.
She gazed at them with a fixed, earnest look for some moments, and then, stretching out her arms, she exclaimed, "Come to me, my son, my boy— long lost, now found! I cried unto the Lord, and He heard me out of my deep distress. You bear your father's name, you have your father's looks. Wonderful are the ways of the Lord. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. The Lord hath restored me tenfold into my bosom. Blessed be the Name of the Lord!"
Tom threw his arms round the old woman, and sobbed like a child.
"Mother, mother, I have found you, I have found you!" he cried out, as he kissed her withered cheek.
What mattered it to him that she was aged and infirm, poor and despised? She was his mother, of whom he had dreamed in his youth whom he had always longed to find. He would now devote himself to cherish and support her, and cheer her few remaining days on earth.
"My dear children," said Dr Morgan, who had entered soon after Moggy had begun her history, "let us learn, from what we have heard, never to cease to put our whole trust and confidence in God. Whatever happens, let us go on praying to God and trusting in God, for let us be assured that He always careth for us."