Chapter 3

It being some miles to his house, I didn't arrive there until the sun was two hours high in the morning, when I found the mother holding her sick child, and six or seven little boys and girls around her, with clean hands and faces, looking as their mother did, lean and poor. On examining the sick child, I discovered that it was starving to death! I said to the mother: "You don't give milk enough for this child."

She said: "I suppose I don't."

"Well," said I, "you must feed it with milk."

She answered: "I would, sir, but I can't get any to feed it with."

I then said: "It will be well, then, for you to make a little water gruel, and feed your child."

To this she replied: "I was thinking I would if my husband brings home some Indian meal. He has gone to try to get some and I am in hopes he will make out."

She said this with a sad countenance. I asked her with surprise: "Why madam, have you not got anything to eat?"

She strove to suppress a tear, and answered sorrowfully: "No sir; we have had but little these some days."

I said: "What are your neighbors, that you should suffer among them?"

She said, "I suppose they are good people, but we are strangers in this place, and don't wish to trouble any of them, if we can get along without."

Wishing to give the child a little manna I asked for a spoon. The little girl went to the table drawer to get one, and her mother said to her: "Get the longest handled spoon." As she opened the drawer, I saw only two spoons, and both with handles broken off, but one handle was a little longer than the other. I thought to myself this is a very poor family, but I will do the best I can to relieve them. While I was preparing the food for the sick child, I heard the oldest boy (who was about fourteen), say: "You shall have the biggest piece now, because I had the biggest piece before." I turned around to see who it was that manifested such a principle of justice, and I saw four or five children sitting in the corner, where the oldest was dividing a roasted potato among them. And he said to one: "You shall have the biggest piece now," etc. But the other said: "Why, brother, you are the oldest, and you ought to have the biggest piece."

"No," said the other, "I had the biggest piece."

I turned to the mother, and said: "Madam, you have potatoes to eat, I suppose?"

She replied, "We have had, but this is the last one we have left; and the children have now roasted that for their breakfast."

On hearing this, I hastened home, and informed my wife that food was needed for the sick family. I then prescribed a gallon of milk, two loaves of bread, some butter, meat and potatoes, and sent my boy with these; and had the pleasure to hear in a few days that they were all well.

--Selected.

ONLY ONE VOTE

A local option contest was going on in W--, and Mrs. Kent was trying to influence her husband to vote "No License." Willie Kent, six years old, was, of course on his mamma's side. The night before election Mr. Kent went to see Willie safe in bed, and hushing his prattle, he said: "Now, Willie, say your prayers."

"Papa, I want to say my own words, tonight," he replied. "All right, my boy, that is the best kind of praying," answered the father.

Fair was the picture, as Willie, robed in white, knelt at his father's knee and prayed reverently: "O dear Jesus, do help papa to vote No Whiskey tomorrow. Amen."

Morning came, the village was alive with excitement. Women's hands, made hard by toil, were stretched to God for help in the decision.

The day grew late and yet Mr. Kent had not been to the polls. Willie's prayer sounded in his ears, and troubled conscience said: "Answer your boy's petition with your ballot."

At last he stood at the polling place with two tickets in his hand-- one, license; the other, "No License." Sophistry, policy, avarice said: "Vote License." Conscience echoed: "No License." After a moment's hesitation, he threw from him the No License ticket and put the License in the box.

The next day it was found that the contest was so close that it needed but one vote to carry the town for prohibition. In the afternoon, Willie found a No License ticket, and, having heard only one vote was necessary, he started out to find the man who would cast this one ballot against wrong, and in his eagerness he flew along the streets.

The saloon men were having a jubilee, and the highways were filled with drunken rowdies. Little Willie rushed on through the unsafe crowd.

Hark! a random pistol-shot from a drunken quarrel, a pierced heart, and sweet Willie Kent had his death wound--

They carried him home to his mother. His father was summoned, and the first swift thought that came to him, as he stood over the lifeless boy, was: "Willie will never pray again that I vote No Whiskey."

With a strange still grief he took in his own the quiet little hand chilling into marble coldness, and there between the fingers, firmly clasped, was the No License ballot with which the brave little soul thought to change the verdict of yesterday.

Mr. Kent started back in shame and sorrow. That vote in his hand might have answered the prayer so lately on his lips now dumb, and perhaps averted the awful calamity. Fathers, may not the hands of the "thousands slain" make mute appeal to you? Your one vote is what God requires of you. You are responsible for it being in harmony with His law as if on it hung the great decision.

--_The Issue_

How a Little Girl Utilized the Telephone

A mother living not very far from the post-office in this city, tired with watching over a sick baby, came down stairs for a moment the other day for a few second's rest. She heard the voice of her little, four-year-old girl in the hall by herself, and, curious to know to whom she was talking, stopped for a moment at the half-opened door. She saw that the little thing had pulled a chair in front of the telephone, and stood upon it, with the piece against the side of her head. The earnestness of the child showed that she was in no playing mood, and this was the conversation the mother heard, while the tears stood thick in her eyes; the little one carrying on both sides, as if she were repeating the answers:

"Hello."

"Well, who's there?"

"Is God there?"

"Yes."

"Is Jesus there?"

"Yes."

"Tell Jesus I want to speak to him."

"Well?"

"Is that you, Jesus?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"Our baby is sick, and we want you to let it get well. Won't you, now?" No answer, and statement and question again repeated, and finally answered by a "Yes."

The little one put the ear-piece back on its hook, clambered down from the chair, and with a radiant face, went for her mother, who caught her in her arms.

The baby whose life had been despaired of, began to mend that day and got well.

--_Elmira Free Press_

Jesus Answers Ruth's Prayer

I went to sit up all night with a very sick neighbor. I took Ruth, my little five-year-old girl along. When I started to leave the next morning, the folks told me to leave Ruth there and they would send her home when she awakened. Being very busy, they forgot about the child for some time, and she got up and started home by herself. She started up the fence which she thought led home, but she took the wrong fence and it led out into a large pasture where there were deep canyons, bad cattle, wolves, and other dangers.

The neighbors missed Ruth and sent their son to find out if Ruth had got home all right. Her parents became alarmed when they were told that she had left two hours before. Her father started out to find his precious child, asking God to direct him to her. After going some distance, he heard someone talking. He stopped and listened. His heart was so glad, for he knew it was his child. She was kneeling by a post praying. And this is what he heard her say, "O sweet Jesus, please send my papa to find me! I'm not afraid! I know that you wouldn't let nothing hurt your little girl, but if my papa didn't find me, my mama would cry herself to death and my papa would almost cry his self to death. So please, sweet Jesus, send my papa to find me."

"Here I am, Ruth," Papa said, as he walked toward her.

"Oh, Papa, I knew Jesus would send you to find me!" Ruth said as she quickly jumped up and ran to her father, throwing her arms around him.

Mother was very happy when she saw father coming with their child, and thanked God for caring for her.

--Essie Wilson

VERY SICK

"Mother, Mrs. Oats is very sick!" Ruth said as she came in the door, looking very sad. "Mama, she is sick; she is awful sick. I'm sorry for her. What shall we do for her? Let's go into the other room and pray and ask Jesus what he wants me to do."

So Mother and her little girl went into the other room and knelt down. Ruth began to pray and ask Jesus what she should do for Mrs. Oats. And all of a sudden she jumped up and said, "Jesus told me what to do. He told me to go over and lay my hands on her and pray for her, and he would heal her." And without an answer, Ruth, who was just six years old ran out the door and didn't stop running till she was at Mrs. Oat's bedside.

"Turn over here, Mrs. Oats," Ruth said, as she laid her hand on Mrs. Oats' shoulder. "I came over here to pray for you and Jesus is going to heal you."

Mrs. Oats replied, "Well, pray for me, you blessed little angel; if the Lord would hear anyone's prayers, he would hear yours."

Ruth laid her hands on her and prayed for her and the Lord instantly healed her. She got up and dressed and came over and told Ruth's mother what Ruth had done.

--Essie Wilson

THE DYING GIRL'S PRAYER FOR HER DRUNKEN FATHER

A child from a poor family had an intemperate father, who often used to abuse his wife and children. This child had been to the Sunday School-- had become pious. The physician told the father that his little girl would die. No! he did not believe it. Yes, she will--she must die in a few hours. The father hastened to the bedside; would not part with her, he said.

"Yes, father, you must part with me; I am going to Jesus. Promise me two things. One is, that you won't abuse mother any more, and will drink no more whiskey."

He promised in a solemn, steady manner. The little girl's face lighted up with joy.

"The other thing is, promise me that you will PRAY," said the child.

"I cannot pray; don't know how," said the poor man.

"Father, kneel down, please. There, take the words after me. I will pray-- I learned how to pray in Sunday School and God has taught me how to pray, too; my heart prays, and you must let your heart pray. Now say the words."

And she began in her simple language to pray to the Savior of sinners. After a little he began to repeat after her; as he went on his heart was interested, and he broke out into an earnest prayer for himself; bewailed his sins, confessed and promised to forsake them; entered into covenant with God; light broke out in his darkness; how long he prayed he did not know; he seemed to have forgotten his child in his prayer. When he came to himself he raised his head from the bed on which he had rested it; there lay the little speaker, a lovely smile was upon the face, her hand was in that of the father, but she had gone to be among the angels.

--_Power of Prayer_ by Prime.

LOST TREASURES

"Come, Mamie, darling," said Mrs. Peterson, "before you go into the land of dreams you will kneel at my knee and thank your heavenly Father for what he has given you today."

Mamie came slowly towards her mother, and said, "I've been very naughty, and I can't pray, Mama."

"If you've been naughty dear, that is the more reason that you need to pray."

"But, Mama, I don't think God wants little girls to come to Him when they are naughty."

"You are not naughty now, my dear, are you?"

"No, I am not naughty now."

"Well, then come at once."

"What shall I say to God about it, Mama?"

"You can tell God how very sorry you are."

"What difference will that make?"

"When we have told God that we are sorry, and when he has forgiven us, then we are as happy as if we had not done wrong; but we cannot undo the mischief."

"Then, Mama, I can never be quite as rich as if I had not had a naughty hour today."

"Never, my dear; but the thought of your loss may help you to be more careful in the future, and we will ask God to keep you from sinning against him again."

--Selected

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO DIED TO SAVE HER FATHER'S LIFE

My dear little friend: I want to tell you about a little girl in Switzerland who died to save her father's life. I hope it will lead you to think of Him who died a dreadful death on the cross, that we might be saved from sin and sorrow here, and at last dwell with Him in bright mansions in the skies.

This little girl lived near a deep ravine at the foot of one of the mountains in Switzerland. A huge rock had fallen down the mountain side, and lodged in the ravine, and thus made a natural bridge, so that those who wished to pass from one side of the mountain to the other, could cross the bridge.

The mother of the child was an earnest Christian, and often told her daughter about the blessed Savior, who died in the place of sinners, who deserved to be punished that they might be forgiven and saved in heaven. And she told her also that unless she came to Jesus, and trusted in Him, she would be lost forever. At first the little girl did not care very much about what her mother said, but at last the mother's prayer was answered. Her little one felt herself to be a lost sinner, and that Christ alone could save her. God's spirit taught her that Jesus had paid the debt, and that He stood with open arms ready to receive her, and wash her sins away. Then she felt sure that heaven would be her home forever. Her father was not a Christian. He never gathered his loved ones around the family altar.

One day when about to cross the deep ravine upon the rock bridge, the mother saw that it was just ready to fall. The frost had loosened it. She told her little child that if she ever crossed it again it would fall, and she would be dashed in pieces.

The next day the father told his child that he was going over to the other side across the bridge. She told him it was not safe, but he only laughed at her. He said he had been across it before she was born, and that he was not afraid. When the dear little thing saw that he was determined to go she asked if she could go with him.

While they were walking along together, she looked up into her father's face, and said: "Father, if I should die, will you promise to love Jesus and meet me in heaven?"

"Pshaw!" he said, "what put such a wild thought into your head? You are not going to die, I hope. You are only a wee thing and will live many years."

"Yes, but if I should die, will you promise to love Jesus just as I do, and meet me in heaven?"

"But you are not going to die. Don't speak of it," he said.

"But if I should die, do promise, Father, you will be a good Christian and come up and live with Jesus and me in heaven."

"Yes, yes!" he said at last.

When they came near the crossing-place, she said: "Father, please stand here a minute." She loved him dearly and was willing to run the risk of dying for him. Strange as it may seem she walked quickly and jumped upon the loose rock, and down it went with the girl. She was crushed to death. The trembling parent crept to the edge, and eyes dimmed with tears, gazed wildly upon the wreck. Then he thought of all his little child had told him about how Jesus had died to save us. He thought he had never loved her so much. But he began to see that he had far more reason to love Jesus who had suffered much more to save him from the "bottomless pit." And then he thought of the promise he so carefully made to his daughter. What could he do but kneel down and cry to God to have mercy upon him?

If they meet in heaven, do you think that daughter will be sorry that she sacrificed her life for her father's sake? Can you not imagine that tears often filled the eyes of that father when he spoke of his sainted little one?

You would say that he would have been a very wicked man if he had not loved the memory of his child. But is it not a thousand times more wicked for you not to love Him who has loved you so much more than that little one loved her father?

How can you help loving such a precious Savior? Will you not ask Him to forgive you and help you to live for Him the rest of your life?

--_The Way of Faith_

"FORGOTTEN MY SOUL"

"Mother, you have forgotten my soul," so said a little girl, three years old as her kind and careful mother was about to lay her in bed. She had just risen from repeating the Lord's prayer. "But, Mother," she said, "you have forgotten my soul."

"What do you mean, Anna?"

"Why,

'Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep! If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.'

"We have not said that."

The child meant nothing more, yet her words were startling. And, oh! from how many rosy lips might they come with mournful significance!

You, fond mother, so busy hour after hour preparing and adorning garments for their pretty little form, have you forgotten the soul? Do you commend it earnestly to the care of its God and Savior? Are you leading it to commit itself, in faith and love to his keeping?--Selected.

PREVAILING PRAYER OF A CHILD

At the close of a prayer-meeting, the pastor observed a little girl about twelve years of age remaining upon her knees, when most of the congregation had retired. Thinking the child had fallen asleep, he touched her and told her it was time to return home. To his surprise he found that she was engaged in prayer, and he said: "All things whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive." She looked up at the pastor earnestly, and inquired: "Is that so? Does God say that?"

He took up a Bible and read the passage aloud. She immediately began praying: "Lord, send my father here; Lord, send my father to the chapel." Thus she continued for about half an hour, attracting by her earnest cry the attentions of persons who had lingered about the door. At last a man rushed into the chapel, ran up the aisle and sank upon his knees by the side of his child, exclaiming: "What do you want of me?" She threw her arms about his neck, and began to pray: "Oh, Lord, convert my father!" Soon the man's heart was melted and he began to pray for himself. The child's father was three miles from the chapel when she began praying for him. He was packing goods in a wagon and felt impressed with an irresistible impulse to return home. Driving rapidly to his house, he left the goods in his wagon and hastened to the chapel, where he found his daughter crying mightily to God in his behalf; and he was led there to the Savior.

--_Foster's Encyclopedia_

THE DYING NEWS BOY

In a dark alley in the great city of New York, a small, ragged boy might be seen. He appeared to be about twelve years old, and had a careworn expression on his countenance. The cold air seemed to have no pity as it pierced through his ragged clothes, and made the flesh beneath blue and almost frozen.

This poor boy had once a happy home. His parents died a year before, and left him without money or friends. He was compelled to face the cold, cruel world with but a few cents in his pocket. He tried to earn his living by selling newspapers and other such things. This day everything seemed to go against him, and in despair he threw himself down in the dark alley, with his papers by his side. A few boys gathered around the poor lad, and asked in a kind way (for a street Arab): "Say, Johnny, why don't you go to the lodges?" (The lodge was a place where almost all the boys stayed at night, costing but a few cents.) But the poor little lad could only murmur that he could not stir, and called the boys about him, saying: "I am dying now, because I feel so queer: and I can hardly see you. Gather around me closer boys. I cannot talk so loud. I can kinder see the angels holding out their hands for me to come to that beautiful place called heaven. Goodbye, boys. I am to meet father and mother." And, with these last words on his lips, the poor lad died.

Next morning the passers-by saw a sight that would soften the most hardened heart. There, lying on the cold stone, with his head against the hard wall, and his eyes staring upward, was the poor little frozen newsboy. He was taken to the chapel near by, and was interred by kind hands. And those who performed this act will never forget the poor forsaken lad.

--_Golden Dawn_

NEW SHOES

"I wonder if there can be a pair of shoes in it!"

Little Tim sat on the ground close beside a very ugly dark-colored stone jug. He eyed it sharply, but finding it quite impossible to see through its sides, pulled out the cork and peered anxiously in. "Can't see nothin', but it's so dark in there I couldn't see if there was anything. I've a great mind to break the hateful old thing."

He sat for awhile thinking how badly he wanted a pair of shoes to wear to the Sunday School picnic. His mother had promised to wash and mend his clothes, so that he might go looking very neat indeed; but the old shoes were far past all mending and how could he go barefoot?

Then he began counting the chances of his father being very angry when he should find his jug broken. He did not like the idea of getting a whipping for it, as was very likely, but how could he resist the temptation of making sure about those shoes? The more he thought of them, the more he couldn't. He sprang up and hunted around until he found a good size brick-bat, which he flung with such vigorous hand and correct aim that the next moment the old jug lay in pieces before his eyes.

How eagerly he bent over them in the hope of finding not only what he was so longing for but, perhaps, other treasure! But his poor little heart sank as he turned over the fragments with trembling fingers. Nothing could be found among the broken bits, wet on the inside with a bad-smelling liquid.

Tim sat down again and sobbed as he had never sobbed before; so hard that he did not hear a step beside him until a voice said:

"Well, what's all this?"

He sprang up in great alarm. It was his father, who always slept late in the morning, and was very seldom awake so early as this.

"Who broke my jug?" he asked. "I did," said Tim, catching his breath half in terror and half between his sobs.

"Why did you?" Tim looked up. The voice did not sound quite so terrible as he had expected. The truth was his father had been touched at sight of the forlorn figure, so very small and so sorrowful, which had bent over the broken jug.

"Why," he said, "I was looking for a pair of new shoes. I want a pair of shoes awful bad to wear at the picnic. All the other chaps wear shoes."

"How came you to think you'd find shoes in a jug?"

"Why Mama said so. I asked her for some new shoes and she said they had gone into the black jug, and that lots of other things had gone into it, too--coats and hats, and bread and meat and things--and I thought if I broke it I'd find them all, and there ain't a thing in it--and Mama never said what wasn't so before--and I thought 'twould be so--sure."

And Tim, hardly able to sob out the words, feeling how keenly his trust in mother's word had added to his great disappointment, sat down again, and cried harder than ever.

His father seated himself on a box in the disorderly yard and remained quiet for so long a time that Tim at last looked timidly up.

"I am real sorry I broke your jug, Father. I'll never do it again."