Saturday had been to Sophy one of the darkest days of her life. Isaacs and his son had been absent during the greater part of it, and the blind girl had been left to her loneliness and pain, the former only broken by a visit from an angry landlord demanding rent which Isaacs had been unable to pay. Isaacs, on his return, had found Sophy in tears, and he was little able to cheer her, for again had the convert been unsuccessful in his anxious attempt to get work. He seated himself wearily, folded his arms, and, drooping his head, sat silent as one who feels that life is full of trials. But who "can suffer and be still,"—submissive and uncomplaining?

"If I had but a little capital to start with," he began, speaking rather to himself than to Sophy; but he cut himself short by the remark, "If God had thought it good for me to have it, he would not have withheld it; I am content that my portion should not be in this life. Better the reproach of Christ, than all the riches of Egypt!"

"Success, success! see what I've brought!" cried the cheerful voice of Benoni at the door. Benjamin raised his head,—Sophy turned her sightless eyes in the direction of the welcome sound.

"I've sold all; emptied your basket, emptied and filled it again!" cried Benoni. "Here's bread, and delicious bacon, and a nice bit of butcher's meat too! It's Saturday evening, so I got it for five-pence. Have I not made a good bargain?" The boy turned with an appealing smile to his father.

"How did you contrive to sell everything in the basket?" asked Isaacs.

"And how much did it all bring?" inquired Sophy.

"I'll tell you all about it. I had been wandering about for five or six hours, and had sold but three kettle-holders for a penny apiece, when I thought I'd try a woman who was standing at the door of a shop where things just like yours are sold. I begged her to buy; she looked doubtful. I told her she might have everything that was left for a shilling, and so she cleared off all that was in the basket at once!"

Isaacs shook his head with a rather sad smile. "You are no great hand at making a bargain in the selling line, whatever you may be in the buying," said he.

"A shilling would not pay for the wool!" murmured Sophy, in a tone of bitter disappointment.

Little Benoni looked mortified and distressed. "You told me to sell the things for what they would bring," he said, sadly. "Yesterday they brought nothing at all. I dare say I've done very foolishly, but I wanted to bring home plenty of nice food for Sunday."

"And you have brought plenty; and we have to thank Sophy for feeding us all by the work of her hands," said Isaacs, kindly. "I wish that I had earned as much to-day as you and she have, my boy."

Benoni looked gratefully at his father, but the cloud did not pass from the brow of Sophy. What hopes she had built on that basket of work! How she had counted on the proceeds of its sale, not only to supply present need, but to buy materials for future labors! She had probably over-estimated the value of her little store as much as Benoni had done the contrary, and now all that it had been sold for would be consumed in two or three meals, and nothing be left with which she might start afresh! Sophy, hungry as she was, scarcely cared to touch the supper, purchased at what seemed to her at so very costly a price.

We know that severe cold is apt to benumb those who are exposed to it, to make them dislike making efforts, even when life may depend on their doing so, and that they are in danger of sinking into a sleep from which they waken no more. The ice of mistrust brings to the soul a peril much like this. A chill of despair often comes over sufferers who doubt the love of their God. They are not inclined to struggle against its benumbing effects, to wrestle in earnest, or to press onwards with resolute faith. Thus it was with Sophy Claymore. When, on the Sunday morning, Isaacs asked her if she were going with him to church, she shook her head, and said that she was not well enough to go. Her sickness was more of the soul than the body,—it came from the tempter's whisper, "Where is thy God? He heareth thee not."

"If Sophy can't go with us, Benoni," said Isaacs, "I'll do as I once promised,—take you to attend service in Westminster Abbey. Now bring me the Bible; we'll have our morning reading, my son."

Isaacs read about the story of the woman of Canaan,—the touching account of persevering pleading, of faith that would take no denial. When the Bible was closed, Benoni, as was his wont, began to talk over the passage to which he had just been listening.

"How happy that woman must have been!—so much happier than if the Lord had granted her prayer directly!"

"I don't see why," said Sophy.

"Do you not?" cried Benoni. "Why, if the Lord had made her child well at once, she would never have heard that delightful word, 'O woman, great is thy faith!' I always fancy that the Lord smiled upon her as he said that, but that he sighed when he said to Peter, 'O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?' I suppose," continued the boy, "that both the woman and St. Peter really loved and served their Master, but he spoke very differently to them. Sometimes I think—perhaps it is a childish thought—that when God's people have no more troubles, and they are welcomed up to glory, and see that what looked wrong really was right, those who trusted most will be those to rejoice the most. To some, then, the Saviour may say, 'Great was thy faith;' and oh, the delight to hear him say that! But I'm afraid that to most he will rather say, 'Thou of little faith, why didst thou doubt?'"

These words from the lips of a child were as a soft warm breeze from the south, melting and stirring the ice round the heart. Sophy felt that her sullen mistrust was dishonoring her Lord, and that, had she been in the place of the woman of Canaan, the first discouragement would have driven her away from the Saviour. The blind girl made no reply, but a few minutes afterwards she said, "I'll go to church this morning; there's really nothing to hinder me."

"Yes, yes, we will all go together!" cried Benoni, cheerfully giving up at once, and without any apparent regret, the plan of going to Westminster Abbey, a place too distant for Sophy to walk to. It was agreed that the three should, as usual, attend service in their own parish church.

And Sophy, like many other sorrowful ones, found the Saviour in the temple of God. Her burden grew lighter as she listened to the numerous voices around her joining in singing the praise of the Lord. She thought of the multitudes clothed in white robes, come out of great tribulation, and felt that those who will share such bliss then, may learn now to glory in tribulations also.

Sophy and the Isaacs were among the last to quit Marylebone church. As the blind girl slowly walked down the steps under the portico, she was almost startled by the joyful exclamation, "Hurrah! I've found them at last!"

"Ned Franks!" cried Isaacs and Benoni in a breath. It would be difficult to decide who was most delighted by a meeting so unexpected,—Franks, or those whom he had so anxiously sought. Isaacs invited his friend to go home with him; then almost repented having done so, for he was ashamed of his miserable abode. Benoni was secretly glad that for once there was something better than a crust to offer to the guest.

Franks was so eager to tell his good news, that he could scarcely wait till they had reached a more quiet place than the Marylebone Road. His eagerness was greatly increased by the poverty betrayed by the appearance of his friends. "Help has not come before it was needed," he thought, as he looked at their thin, sunken features, and their shabby, though still decent, dress. "How thankful I am that I came on this cruise! and doubly thankful that I did not start for Colme this morning, and so lose the prize which was right ahead of me!"

Franks kept his great secret tolerably well, only letting the fact that he had some good news ooze out a little, till the party had entered together the gloomy lodging of Isaacs. Then, indeed, he enjoyed to the full that feast to a kindly heart, the power of imparting glad tidings. The very bareness of the kitchen seemed to make his message brighter, like a dark background setting off a pattern of gold. Isaacs' grave features relaxed into a smile; Benoni clapped his thin hands and could hardly keep from shouting; Sophy looked at first as if she could hardly believe what she heard, then clasped her hands and raised her sightless eyes towards heaven.

"Father," cried Benoni, "you said that if you'd but a little capital to start with, you could make your way"—Isaacs hurriedly stopped him short by gesture and glance.

"I shall advise Sophy how to lay out her little property to the best advantage for herself," said the Jew.

"And that is by your taking it, using it, doing what you will with it!" cried Sophy with emotion. "O my father, have you not called me your child; have you not said again and again that our purse should always be one? Have you not shared your little with me, fed and clothed me for years? What is mine is yours and my brother's; let it start you in business, and we will all share together whatever your gains may be. I would rather throw the money into the street, and myself go into the workhouse, than have property and not enjoy it with you and my dear Benoni!"

"The lass says well," observed Franks. "Her money can't be better laid out than in giving you the power to support all three."

"I might take it as a loan, if Sophy would trust me," said Benjamin Isaacs.

"Trust you!" exclaimed the blind girl, while joyful tears coursed down her cheeks; "you to whom I owe so much, you who have been to me as a father, from whom I deserved nothing, and yet have received everything! It would be strange indeed if I could not trust you!"

Did conscience then whisper to Sophy that it had been stranger still that she should mistrust One who like as a father pitieth his children, who had loved and watched over her from her cradle, and would love and bless her even to the end?

And so the long struggle with poverty came to a close with Benjamin Isaacs. From that time he was to be as successful in business as he had formerly been unfortunate. The working jeweller was to realize how true is the Word of God, The blessing of the Lord it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it. Sophy laid out her little property to very good interest when she lent it to her father by adoption. The blind girl never recovered her bodily sight, but the darkness had passed from her soul; she had learned to rejoice in the Lord, and to wait with trustful hope for the day when all clouds of sorrow and mists of doubts shall be rolled away forever.