Chapter 21

"_Father, father, I have found such a precious text in my little Testament, which I brought to the mountain with me, for very joy I could not stop to read it to mother, but hastened to you with it. Please listen while I read_." To which he said:

"Yes, my child, read it. There is comfort to be found in the Scriptures. We will not long be together on earth, and there could be no better way of spending our last mortal hours." To which she replied:

"O, father, I believe that we will not die at this time; that we will not be permitted to starve; that God will surely send us relief; but do let me read." Then opening her dear little volume, at the ninth verse of the sixth chapter of Matthew, she read as follows:

"'_Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven; give us this day our daily bread.' O, father, to think that our dear Saviour Himself taught His disciples to pray for their daily bread. These are His own words. It is not possible, therefore, that He will allow any person to starve, who, in His own appointed language, asks Him for food. Will He not, dear father, hear our prayers for bread_?"

At once and forever the scales fell from the eyes of that parent. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he clasped his child to his bosom, and earnestly repeated the Lord's Prayer. _He had scarcely finished it when a small dog ran to where he and his daughter were upon their knees, and barked so fiercely as to attract to the spot its owner, a wealthy Pennsylvania farmer,_ who was upon the mountain in search of cattle that he had lost for several days. The kind-hearted tiller of the soil immediately piloted the suffering family to his own comfortable home, and properly provided for their wants.

A CHILD PRESERVED FROM WOLVES.

A little girl only nine years old, named Sutherland, living at Platteville, Col., was recently saved from death by ferocious forest wolves as follows: The child went with her father on a cold afternoon to the woods to find the cattle, and was told to follow the calves home, while the father continued his search for the cows. She did so, but the calves misled her, and very soon she became conscious that she was lost. Night came on, and with it the cold of November and the dreaded wolves. With a strange calmness she continued on her uncertain way. The next day, Sunday, at 10 A.M., she reached, in her wanderings, the house of John Beebe, near a place called Evans, having traveled constantly eighteen hours, and a distance of not less than twenty-five miles. _All night the wolves growled around her, but harmed her not_; neither was she in the least frightened by them. All know that in ordinary cases fierce packs of blood-thirsty wolves would devour a man, and even a horse. But this little one was invincible in her trusting, simple faith. The narrative states: "She said that the wolves kept close to her heels and snapped at her feet; but her mother told her that if she was _good_ the Lord would _always_ take care of her; so she asked the Lord to take care of her, and she knew the wolves would not hurt her, _because God wouldn't let them_!" The child was hunted for by a great number of people, and being found was restored shortly to her parents in perfect health and soundness.

JESUS CURED ME.

In the family of a missionary pastor in Kansas, was a daughter of twelve years of age, seriously afflicted with chronic rheumatism. For three years she suffered, until the leg was shrunken, stiff at the knee, shorter by some two inches than, the other, and the hip joint was being gradually drawn from its socket. The child read of Mrs. Miller's cure by prayer, originally published in _The Advance_, and wondered why she could not also be cured by the same means. She repeated to her mother some of the promised answers to prayer, and asked: "Don't Jesus mean what he says, and isn't it just as true now as then?" The mother endeavored to divert her attention by representing the affliction as a blessing. The physician also called and left another prescription, and encouraged the child to hope for benefit from it. The child could not, however, be diverted from the thought that Jesus could and would heal her. After the doctor's departure she said: "_Mamma, I cannot have that plaster put on."_

"Why, dear."

"_Because, mother, Jesus is going to cure me, and he must have all the glory. Dr. ---- doesn't believe in God; if we put the plaster on, he will say it was that which helped me; and it must be all Jesus_." So earnest was she, that her mother at length placed the package, just as she had received it, on a shelf, and said no more about it.

The little girl and her mother were alone that day, the father being absent from home. When the household duties were done she called her mother to her.

"Mother, will you pray now to Jesus to cure me_? I have got the faith; I know he will if you will ask him_." The mother, overcome, yielded to her daughter's request, and commenced praying. She was blest with unusual consciousness of the presence of God, and became insensible of all outward surroundings, pleading for the child. She remained in this state of intercession for more than an hour, when she was aroused by her daughter, who with her hand on the mother's shoulder was joyfully exclaiming, "_Mother, dear mother, wake up! Don't you see Jesus has cured me? O, I am well! I am all well!" and she danced about the room, literally healed._

One week from that day, the girl was seen by the writer in the "_Advance,"_ who says she was _out sliding on the ice with her companions_. From that day to this she has had no further trouble; _the limb is full, round and perfect_; there is _no difference between it and the other_.

To every question asked she replies, with the overflowing gratitude of a loving heart, "Jesus cured me!"

THE LITTLE BOY WHO WANTED HIS SISTER TO READ THE BIBLE.

Rev. Mr. Spurgeon, of London, tells of the excellent faith of a little boy in one of the schools of Edinburgh, who had attended a prayer-meeting, and at the last said to his teacher who conducted it:

"Teacher, I wish my sister could be got to read the Bible; she never reads it."

"Why, Johnny, should your sister read the Bible?"

"Because if she once read it I am sure it would do her good, and she would he converted and saved."

"Do you think so, Johnny?"

"Yes, I do, sir; and I wish the next time there was a prayer-meeting you would ask the people to pray for my sister, that she may begin to read the Bible."

"Well, well, it shall be done, John."

So the teacher gave out that a little boy was anxious that prayer should be offered that his sister might read the Bible. John was observed to get up and go out. The teacher thought it very rude of the boy to disturb the people in a crowded room, and so the next day, when the lad came, he said:

"John, I thought it very rude of you to get up in the prayer-meeting and go out. You ought not to have done so."

"O, sir," said the boy, "I did not mean to be rude; _but I thought I should like to go home and see my sister reading her Bible for the first time_."

_True to his faith, when he reached his home, he found the little girl reading her Bible_.

NETTIE'S DAILY BREAD.

A little girl in a wretched attic, whose sick mother had no bread, knelt down by the bedside, and said slowly: "Give us this day our daily bread." Then she went into the street and began to wonder where God kept his bread. She turned around the corner and saw a large, well-filled baker's shop.

"This," thought Nettie, "is the place." So she entered confidently, and said to the big baker, "I've come for it."

"Come for what?"

"My daily bread," she said, pointing to the tempting loaves. "I'll take two, if you please--one for mother and one for me."

"All right," said the baker, putting them into a bag, and giving them to his little customer, who started at once into the street.

"Stop, you little rogue!" he said, roughly; "where is your money?"

"I haven't any," she said simply.

"Haven't any!" he repeated, angrily; "you little thief, what brought you here, then?"

The hard words frightened the little girl, who, bursting into tears, said: "Mother is sick, and I am so hungry. In my prayers I said, 'Give us this day our daily bread,' and then I thought _God meant me to fetch it, and so I came_."

The rough, but kind-hearted baker was softened by the child's simple tale, and instead of chiding her or visiting threats of punishment, as is usually the case, he said: "_You poor, dear girl; here, take this to your mother_," and he filled a large basketful and gave it to her.

THE BROTHER'S PRAYER.

A physician, who for many years practiced his profession in the State of California, was called once to see the child of Mr. Doak, of Calveras County, living on the road between San Andreas and Stockton, and not far from the mining town of Campo Seco, or Dry Camp. He says: The patient was a little girl about ten years of age, bright and intelligent and one of twins, the other being a boy, equally bright and well-disposed. The primary symptoms had indicated inflammation of the stomach, which the attending physician had hopelessly combated, and finally, when by metastasis it attacked the brain, with other unfavorable symptoms, he was inclined to abandon the case in despair.

It was at this juncture I was called in. The symptoms were exceedingly unfavorable, and my own opinion coincided with my professional brother's. However, we determined to go to work. A day and night of incessant watching, and the state of the patient caused us both to feel the case hopeless, and we only continued our attendance at the earnest solicitation of the child's mother. The anxious, care-worn and restless sorrow of the little brother, his deep grief as he saw his sister given over to the power of the King of Terrors, had attracted our attention. He would creep up to the bedside of his sister silently, with pale and tearful face, controlling his emotion with great effort, and then steal away again and weep bitterly. With a vague, indefinite idea of comforting the little fellow, I took him to my knee, and was about to utter some platitude, when the little fellow, looking me in the face, his own the very picture of grief, burst out with--

"Oh, Doctor, must sister die?"

"Yes," I replied, "but,"--

Before I could go farther he again interrupted me: "Oh, Doctor, is there nothing, nothing that will save her? Can nobody, nobody save my sister?"

For an instant the teachings of a tender and pious mother flashed over my mind. They had been long neglected, were almost forgotten. California, in those days, was not well calculated to fasten more deeply on the mind home teachings. There were very few whose religious training survived the ordeal, and for a long time I had hardly thought of prayer. But the question brought out with the vividness of a flash of lightning, and as suddenly, all that had been obscured by my course of life, and, hardly knowing what I did, I spoke to him of the power that might reside in prayer. I said, God had promised to answer prayer. I dared not allow the skeptical doubt, that came to my own mind, meet the ear of that innocent boy, and told him, more as my mother had often told me than with any thought of impressing a serious subject on his mind, "_That the prayers of little boys, even, God would hear_." I left that night with some simple directions, that were given more to satisfy the mother than from having the slightest hope of eventual recovery, promising to return next day.

In the morning, as I rode to the door, the little boy was playing round with a bright and cheerful countenance, and looked so happy that involuntarily I asked:

"Is your sister better?"

"Oh, no, Doctor," he replied, "but she is going to get well."

"How do you know," I asked.

"_Because I prayed to God_" said he, "and _he told me she would."_

"How did he tell you?"

The little fellow looked at me for an instant, and reverently placing his hand on the region of his heart, said:

"_He told me in my heart_."

Going to the room where my patient was lying, I found no change whatever, but in spite of my own convictions there had sprung up a hope within me. The medical gentleman with whom I was in consultation came to the room, and as he did, _a thought of a very simple remedy_ I had seen used by an old negro woman, in a very dissimilar case, _occurred to my mind._ It became so _persistently present_ that I mentioned it to my brother practitioner. He looked surprised, but merely remarked. "It can do no harm." I applied it. In two hours we both felt the case was out of danger.

The second day after that, as we rode from the house, my friend asked me how I came to think, of so simple a remedy.

"_I think it was that boy's prayer_," I replied.

"Why, Doctor! you are not so superstitious as to connect that boy's prayers with his sister's recovery," said he.

"Yes, I do," I replied; "for the life of me I cannot help thinking his prayers were more powerful than our remedies."

LIGHT GIVEN TO A BLIND CHILD.

"A missionary visiting one of the mission schools of Brooklyn, was introduced to a remarkable child. He was brought into the school from the highways and hedges, and young as he was, he had been taught of God. One day he was playing with powder, and putting his mouth to the match to blow it, it exploded, and the whole charge went into his face and eyes. He became totally blind, and the physician gave but little hope of recovery. But the little sufferer was patient and calm, and even hopeful; sitting through the dark days meditating on what he had learned at the mission Sabbath-school, and repeating passages of Scripture and many a beautiful hymn.

"One evening after the physician had spoken discouragingly, and his parents, as he perceived, were in deep distress, he was absorbed on his knees in a corner of the room in earnest prayer. His voice, though subdued almost to a whisper, was indicative of intense feeling. His parents inquired what he had been praying so earnestly for. Why, said he, that _Jesus Christ would open my eyes. The doctor says he can't, and so I thought I would ask the Savior to do it for me. God honored his faith. In a few days his sight came to him; and the prayer was answered. He can now see clearly_."

ASKING THE LORD TO HELP HIM IN HIS LESSONS.

"A little boy was at school, he was diligent, and determined to succeed, but found that parsing was rather hard.

"One day he went to his mamma for a little help in analyzing some sentences. She told him the proper manner of doing it, and he followed her directions; but he was much troubled that he could not understand the whys and wherefores himself.

"His mamma told him it was rather hard for him then, but that after he had studied a little longer, it would be quite easy.

"Johnnie went into another room to study alone, but after a little came back, his face perfectly radiant with joy. He said: 'O mamma, I want to begin again. I asked Jesus to help me, and now I think I see just how it is. He always helps us when we ask him;' and with unspeakable delight he with his mamma went over his lesson again."

GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD.

"The _American Messenger_ tells the story of Johnny Hall, a poor boy. His mother worked hard for their daily bread. 'Please give me something to eat; I am very hungry,' he said one evening. His mother let the work upon which she was sewing fall from her knee, and drew Johnny toward her. Her tears fell fast as she said: 'Mamma is very poor, and cannot give you any supper to-night.' 'Never mind, mamma; I shall soon be asleep, and then I sha'n't feel hungry. But you will sit and sew, and be so hungry and cold. Poor mamma,' he said, and kissed her many times to comfort her.

"'Now, Johnny, you may say your prayers;' for dearly as his mother loved him, she could ill afford to lose a moment from her work. He repeated 'Our Father' with her until they came to the petition, 'Give us this day our daily bread.' The earnestness, almost agony, with which the mother uttered these words, impressed Johnny strongly. He said them over again: '_Give us this day our daily bread_.' Then opening his blue eyes, he fixed them on his mother, and said: 'We shall never be hungry any more. God is _our Father_, and he _will_ hear us.' The prayer was finished and Johnny laid to rest. The mother sewed with renewed energy. Her heart was sustained by the simple faith of her child. Many were the gracious promises which came to her remembrance. Although tired and hungry, still it was with a light heart she sank to rest.

"Early in the morning a gentleman called on his way to business. He wished Johnny's mother to come to his home to take charge of his two motherless boys. She immediately accepted the offer. They were thus provided with all the comforts of a good home. Johnny is a man now, but he has never forgotten the time when he prayed so earnestly for his daily bread.

"_God will hear prayer_ is his firm belief. In many ways has he had the faith of his childhood confirmed. He looks to God as his Father with the same trust now as then.

GOD WILL TAKE CARE OF ME.

"When the yellow fever raged in New Orleans, the pestilence visited a Christian household, and the father died. Then the mother was suddenly seized, and knowing that she must die, she gathered the four children around her bed, the oldest being only about ten years of age, and said to them that God was about to take her home to heaven. She urged them to have no fears, and assured them that the kind, heavenly Father who had so long provided for them would surely come and take care of them. The children, with almost breaking hearts, believed what the dying mother had told them.

"She was buried. The three youngest soon followed her, although they received every necessary attention from friends during their sickness. The oldest, a boy, was also seized by the pestilence, and in an unguarded moment, under the influence of delirium, wandered from his sick-bed out into the suburbs of the city, and lying down in the tall grass by the roadside, looked steadfastly up, murmuring, incoherently at times, 'Mother said God would come and take care of me--would come and take care of me!' A gentleman happening to pass at the time, and hearing the unusual sounds, went where the lad was lying, and rousing him, asked him what he was doing there. Said the little fellow in reply: '_Father died; mother died; little brother and sisters died. But just before mother went away into heaven, she told us to have no fear, for God would come and take care of us, and I am now waiting for him to come down and take me. I know he will come, for mother said so, and she always told us the truth_.'

"'Well,' said the gentleman, whose kindliest sympathies were stirred by the little fellow's sad condition and his implicit confidence in his sainted mother's pious instructions, '_God has sent me, my son, to take care of you_.' So he had him carried to his home, and kindly nursed and cared for by his own family. He recovered, and to-day is one of the most useful Christian young men in the far West, where he has fixed his home."

LAURA HEALED.

"A Christian teacher, connected with a Southern Orphan Asylum, writes _The Christian_, that often when the children were sick, and most of them came to me more or less diseased, I cried to the Lord for help, and He who 'bore our infirmities, and carried our sicknesses,' healed them. Oh it is so good to trust in the Lord! How much better to rely on Him 'in whom we live, and move, and have our being,' than to put confidence in man, even in the most skillful physician. To confirm and strengthen the faith of the doubting, I send you the following account of the healing of one of our orphans.

"Laura was one of a large orphan family, living on Port Royal Island, S.C. When her mother died, she went to live with a colored woman who made her work very hard, 'tote' wood and water, hoe cotton and corn, do all manner of drudgery, rise at daybreak, and live on scanty food. Laura suffered from want, exposure and abuse. The freed-women of the plantation looked with pity into her eyes, and desired her to run away. But she replied, 'Aunt Dora will run after me, and when she done cotch me, she'll stripe me well with the lash; she done tell so already.'

"One morning, however, when Laura went to the creek for crabs, a good aunty followed her, and throwing a shawl over the poor child's rags, said, 'Now, Laura, put foot for Beaufort fast as ever you can, and when you get there, inquire where Mrs. Mather lives: go straight to her; she has a good home for jes sich poor creeters as you be.' Laura obeyed, hastened to Beaufort, seven miles distant, found my home, was made welcome, and her miserable rags exchanged for good clean clothes. In the morning, I said, 'Laura, did you sleep well last night?' She replied, 'O, missis, my heart too full of joy to sleep. Me lay awake all night, thinking how happy me is in dis nice, clean bed, all to myself. Me never sleep in a bed before, missis.'

"Laura, then about thirteen years old, came to me with a hard cough, and pain in her side. I put on flannels, gave her a generous diet, and hoped, that with rest and cheerful surroundings, she would soon rally as other children had, who came to me in a similar broken-down condition. Still the cough and pain continued. I dosed her with various restoratives, such as flax-seed, and slippery elm, etc., but all were of no avail. She steadily grew worse. Every week I could see she declined. Her appetite failed; night sweats came on; and she was so weak that most of the day she lay in bed. The children, all of whom loved Laura, she was so patient and gentle, whispered one to another, 'Laura is gwine to die; dere is def in her eye."

"One evening in mid-winter, the poor child's short breath, fluttering pulse, and cold, clammy sweat alarmed me, and I felt sure that unless the dear Lord interposed in her behalf, her time with us was very short. I lingered by her bed till near midnight in prayer for her recovery. I could not give her up. Again in my own room I poured out my soul in prayer for the child, and then slept. About two o'clock, I suddenly awoke, and heard what seemed a voice saying to me, '_Go to Laura; I can heal her now; the conditions are right; you are both calm and trustful_.'

"I arose quickly, hastened to her room and said to her, 'Laura, do you want to get well?' 'O, yes, missis, me wants to get well.' 'Do you believe Jesus can cure you?' She replied, 'I know he can if he will.' 'Well, Laura,' I said, 'Jesus has just waked me out of a sound sleep, and told me to go and tell you that he _will cure you now_. Do you believe he will, Laura?' 'Yes, missis, me _do believe_,' she replied earnestly. She then repeated this prayer. 'O, Jesus, do please to make me well; let me live a long time, and be a good and useful woman.'

"The burden had rolled off my heart; I returned to my room and slept sweetly. In the morning, Tamar, Laura's attendant, met me at the door, exclaiming joyfully, 'O, I'se so glad! Laura is a heap better, Missis. She wake me up long time before day and begged me to get her something to eat, she so hungry.'

"From that night Laura rapidly recovered. Her cough abated, her appetite was restored, her night sweats ceased, and in less than a month she was strong and well."

A LITTLE SLAVE'S FAITH.