They came in sight of a low cottage just as the day dawned.
"Oh, dear!" said Sorrow, as they approached the familiar spot, "how
often have I been there to carry woe! Do you go now, Joy, and give
them gladness!"
"If it is the master's hour I will most gladly," said Joy, looking
tenderly on the weary face of her sister, who sat by the roadside to rest
awhile while she lifted her heart to heaven, asking that she might no
more carry woe to that humble home; and her prayer was answered.
"I feel to go there," said Joy, as Sorrow wiped her tears away. "Wait
here till I return;" and she ran merrily on.
She entered the humble home with gladness in her beaming eyes, and,
as she bore no resemblance to her sister, they welcomed her with much
greeting; nor did they know but for Sorrow, Joy would not have been
among them. She talked with them a long time, and listened patiently
to the story of their woes.
Sickness, death, and adversity had been their part for many years.
"But they are passing away," said Joy, confidently, "and health and
prosperity shall yet be among you."
"We shall know their full value," whispered a voice from the corner
of the room which Joy's eyes had not penetrated. On a low cot lay an
invalid, helpless and blind.
The tears fell from her own eyes an instant, and then sparkled with a
greater brilliancy than before, as she said, "And this, too, shall pass
away."
The closed eyes, from which all light had been shut out for seven long
years, now slowly opened; the palsied limbs relaxed; life leaped through
the veins once more; and she arose from her bed, while the household
gathered round her.
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