Following Heavenward by Pansy

IT was not a "pet" name. Poor Mart Colson would not have known what to do with a pet name. Her life had not taught her how to use such phrases. How she came to be named Martha, she did not know; but a hollow-eyed, sad-voiced woman could have told her of a country home, long ago, where there were daffodils blowing in the early spring, almost under the snow; where, later, the earth was turned into sky, or the stars came down and gleamed all over her father's fields, so plentiful were the dandelions; and the breath of the clover came in at all the open windows; and the cows-her father's cows-coming home from pasture, and the tinkle of their bells, were sights and sounds familiar to her ear. She sat there one summer evening, in the back door, watching the glory and the peace, and studying, between times, her Sabbath lessons. Often and often the words came back to her in future years.

"Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus."