 
God's Little Lambs

Georgia Davenport McCain

Published by Ron McCain at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Ron McCain

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Originally printed 1999 by Allegheny Publications, Salem, Ohio 44460

Acknowledgements

To all publishers, authors and others who have so graciously granted me permission to use material from their books, tracts, religious papers and other sources, I take this means to express my heartfelt thanks. Where I have failed to make contact, I beg indulgence.

Dedication

Lovingly dedicated to my 20th grandchild

Hayes Reid McCain

Born Jan. 16, 1999, to

Randy and Angie McCain

Welcome to our LARGE family,

Little Hayes.

You are also welcomed as one of

"God's Little Lambs."
TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Soul of a Child

Abbie Learns to Pray

He Blesses God for the the Faith of His Little Girl

God's Little Lamb

You Can Have My Room

They Called Him a Dull Boy

The Little Girl Who Stayed to Pray

Ask, and You Shall Receive

Mom's Unique Way to Settle a Dispute

My Gift to Jesus

A Little Girl Says Grace in a Coffee Shop

How Davie Got His Fishing Rod

Three-Year-Old Prays for Mothers's Healing

Innocent Little Katie

Bud Wasn't Too Young to Understand

He Took My Whipping for Me

A Prodigal Welcomed Home

I Brought You Something, Grandma

Do Chickens Lay Eggs on Sunday?

When I Was Arrested

A Hiding Place

A Homework Assignment

A Child's Prayer Answered

A Wonderful Christmas Story

Seemingly No Hope for This Lad, But God

Barry's Promise

Willie's Sacrifice

My Mother

Little Minnie's Guilty Conscience

The Children's Cookbook

A Knock at the Door

A Gypsy Story

The Beggar Boy

The Missing Bicycle

A Fellow Needs a Mom

Does This Railroad Lead to Heaven?

Robb French, Saved at Age Four

What Matters

Little Nimrod

My Little Children Were Hungry

Scars for Life

A Burned Baby Healed

Abe Lincoln's First Letter

Sign Upon the Doorpost

He Is Able

The Stolen Plum

What Sort of Father Are You?

A Christmas Gift for Papa

Bessie and the Stolen Penny

A Little Tot Backslides

Old-Fashioned Principle

Catherine Booth's Childhood

God's Faithfulness

Ina's Call to China

Little Blind Fanny Crosby

Childhood Memories of His First Camp

Amanda Smith

Victoria Prays for a Dog

A Schoolboy's Experience

On Angel Wings

Willie's Rebellion

Cong-Sing's Bible

One Thankful Little Boy

Wi-Yu

Daddy, I Saw an Angel Today

A Little Girl's Prayer

Links in the Chain

Crippled Tom

My Unforgettable Missionary Dollar

Her Most Unforgettable Thanksgiving

Only a Boy

A Two-Year-Old Touched by Jesus

Are All the Children In?

About the Author

Books by Georgia McCain

Letters from Readers of Georgia McCain Books

Preface

In Luke 18:16-17, we read, "But Jesus called them unto him, and said, 'Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily, I say unto you, whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein.'''

Precious children! In Psalm 127:3 we read, "Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord" -- Blessed thought! Do we treat them as such, training them in the way they should go as Proverbs 22:6 admonishes us to do? How much time do we spend with our children, instructing, teaching, correcting, leading -- and always setting the right example? Do we take time to read to them stories that will enrich their little minds, inspire them to live right, mold their lives for the future? How often do we pray for and with them?

For some time now, God has been speaking to my heart about writing and compiling a book especially for our children and grandchildren; one that can be read in family devotions and other quiet times together. A book that will instill within their hearts the fact of God's never-ending love for them; how His ear is open to their entreaties, how He watches over them and guards them from harm and danger, how He is willing to save their soul \-- even the very young (Robb French was saved at the age of four) \-- and how God can keep them from sin's alluring paths.

Personally, I have been blessed in reviewing these wonderful stories. Some I have collected over the years and have lost track of where they came from. Others I have been able to glean from Sunday School papers, tracts, and books in my possession. I have made an effort to secure the permission of authors to use the stories in this little book. I appreciate all who were so kind as to grant me that permission and pray God will richly bless them for their kindness to me. Where I failed to make contact, I beg indulgence.

All stories are from reliable sources, some being personal friends of the author.

May God use this little book for His glory and for the edification of our young ones, as well as for the older ones. Trust all will enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

\--Author

The Soul of a Child

Anonymous

The soul of a child is the loveliest flower

That grows in the garden of God.

It climbs from weakness to knowledge and power,

To the sky from the clay and the clod.

To beauty and sweetness it grows under care,

Neglected, tis ragged and wild;

'Tis a plant that is tender and wondrously rare

The sweet, wistful soul of a child.

Be tender, O gardener, and give it its share

Of moisture, of warmth and of light;

And let it not lack for painstaking care

To protect it from frost and blight.

A glad day shall come when its bloom shall unfold,

It will seem that an angel has smiled,

Reflecting a beauty and sweetness untold

In the sensitive soul of a child.

In the breast of a bulb is a promise of spring;

In the little blue egg is a bird that will sing;

In the soul of the seed is the hope of the sod;

In the soul of a child is the kingdom of God.

Abbie Learns to Pray

Abigail Townsend was scarcely three years old when her family moved from Exeter to Bristol. Their new home was quite near the orphanage founded by George Muller, and Abbie's father, who was a minister, was a friend of that good man. The little girl had doubtless heard many stories of how God had sent food, clothing and all sorts of things to the orphans in answer to the prayer of Mr. Muller and his faithful helpers.

One day, it so happened that Mr. Muller had a visit from Abbie, and right from the start he could tell that something was on his little friend's mind.

"I wish Dod would answer my prayers like he does yours, Mr. Muller," lisped the child as she clambered up on his knee.

''What is it you want to ask God for?" asked her friend gently.

"Some wool," Abbie replied definitely.

It was not long before the two were kneeling together and Abbie was repeating obediently, "Please Dod, send Abbie some wool."

Quite content, the little one then toddled off to play, but soon she was back. "I want to pray again," she burst out, "I forgot to tell Dod the colour I want."

Once more the child knelt and prayed, "Please, Dod, send it wa-re-gated."

You see, although Abbie was so very young, she was confident that she would be answered. This time, Abbie did not have long to wait, but here is just where someone else comes into our lovely story.

Abbie had a Sunday School teacher, and just around the time that Abbie must have been praying, this good lady felt she must sort out her basket of wool and do something with all the odds and ends that she had gathered over the years. So she laid aside this blue bit of wool and that red bit. Yes, there was yellow, green, and by the time she had finished, there was a pile of wool of every colour lying by her side. Now, what was she to do with them? I am sure it must have been God who gave her the idea to send them to little Abbie Townsend, for that is just what she decided to do. And so a parcel, addressed to Abbie, was taken to the post office.

The very next day, there was a knock at the Townsends' front door and there stood the postman holding out a package, neatly wrapped. "Miss Abigail Townsend" was very clearly written on the label. Perhaps, Abbie may have guessed right away what was in her parcel. At any rate, it was with joy that she tore off the wrappings and found, yes, there it was, a box of wool, just the kind she wanted and as "wa-re-gated" as any little girl could wish.

We are not told what happened next, but I have a feeling that she knelt right down and thanked her loving heavenly Father for answering her so wonderfully. This proved to be only the beginning of Abigail's trust in God, and as she grew older, she found that she had need to ask in prayer many, many times.

In fact, it was only two years later, when Abbie was five years old, that she had to use prayer on a far more serious occasion. This time, her mother was lying dangerously ill. Abbie's older sister brought her to say good-bye to her dying mother. Now, you must know what that would mean to a little child, for a good mother is someone so precious. No one else could take her place. Abbie said determinedly, "My mother must not die," and ran into a little closet to pray.

Getting down on her knees she poured out her heart to the Lord Jesus, "Dear Lord, here I am. I've done just what you said. I've come to the closet. I've shut the door and no one is here but just You and me. So please, dear Lord, don't let Mother die until I've confessed Christ. Thank You."

Abigail felt a sweet peace flooding her heart as she ran into the invalid's room. "My mother will not die," she exclaimed with certainty. To the doctor's surprise, that is exactly what happened. The mother was spared for another five years and once more Abbie's prayers were answered.

When Abbie was seven years of age, one day on her way to church, she heard a little girl singing,

I do, I do, I do believe

That Jesus died for me.

"If you believe that, you are saved, aren't you?" Abbie asked the little singer.

"Yes \-- do you believe it?" queried the little girl. Now Abbie did believe in her heart, but Satan had told her that her mother would die if she confessed it with her mouth; had she not asked God to let her mother live until she had confessed Christ publicly?

Her small friend must have seen a cloud come over Abbie's face, for she burst out, ''You don't believe."

This was too much for Abbie. "I do believe, so there!" she cried. She had at last obeyed the Bible and not only believed in her heart but confessed with her mouth, and now she knew she was saved. That afternoon, her mother gave her a Bible all her very own in which were written the words, "To be given to my daughter, Abigail, the day she confesses Christ."

"See, dear," said Mrs. Townsend, "what joy the Lord has given mother today that she can give you this Bible herself."

When Abbie became a grown woman, she was used to help many sick and handicapped people to find the Lord Jesus Christ as their Savior. I am sure she must have repeated often these stories of how God answered prayer in order to encourage their faltering faith that God does actually hear us when we pray and answers if we will but trust Him.

[Taken from the book, Asking Father, by E. and L. Harvey and Trudy Tait. Harvey Christian Publishers, L.L.P. 70 Dodson Drive, Yanceyville, NC 27379. Used by permission.]

He Blesses God for the Faith

of His Little Girl

"I came home one night very late," says the Rev. Matthew Hale Smith, "and had gone to bed to seek needed rest. The friend with whom I boarded woke me out of my first refreshing sleep, and informed me that a little girl wanted to see me. I turned over in bed and said: "I am very tired. Tell her to come in the morning, and I will see her."

"My friend soon returned and said, 'I think you'd better get up. The girl is a poor little suffering thing. She is thinly clad, is without bonnet or shoes. She has seated herself on the doorstep, and says she must see you, and will wait till you get up."

"I dressed myself, and opening the outside door I saw one of the most forlorn little girls I ever beheld. Want, sorrow, suffering, neglect, seemed to struggle for mastery. She looked up into my face, and said, 'Are you the man that preached last night, and said that Christ could save to the uttermost?' "

"'Yes."

"'Well, I was there, and I want you to come right down to my house and try to save my poor father."

''What's the matter with your father?"

"He's a very good father when he doesn't drink. He's out of work, and he drinks awfully. He's almost killed my poor mother; but if Jesus can save to the uttermost, He can save him. And I want you to come right to our house now."

"I took my hat and followed my little guide, who trotted on before, halting as she turned the corners to see that I was corning. Oh, what a rniserable den her house was! A low, dark, underground room, the floor all slush and mud -- not a chair, table, or bed to be seen. A bitter cold night, and not a spark of fire on the hob, and the room was not only cold, but dark. In the corner, on a little dirty straw, lay a woman. Her head was bound up, and she was moaning as if in agony. As we darkened the doorway a feeble voice said, 'Oh, my child, my child! Why have you brought a stranger into this horrible place?' "

"Her story was a sad one, but soon told. Her husband, out of work, maddened with drink, and made desperate, had stabbed her because she did not provide him with a supper that was not in the house. He was then upstairs, and she was expecting every moment that he would come down and complete the bloody work he had begun. While the conversation was going on, the fiend made his appearance. A fiend he looked. He brandished the knife, still wet with the blood of his wife."

The missionary, like the man from the tombs, had himself belonged to the desperate classes. He was converted at the mouth of a coal-pit. He knew the disease and the remedy--knew how to handle a man on the borders of delirium tremens.

Subdued by the tender tones, the madman calmed down and took a seat on a box. But the talk was interrupted by the little girl, who approached the missionary and said, "Don't talk to Father; it won't do any good. If talking would have saved him, he would have been saved long ago. Mother has talked to him so much and so good. You must ask Jesus, who saves to the uttermost, to save my poor father."

Rebuked by the faith of the little child, the missionary and the miserable sinner knelt down together. He prayed as he had never prayed before; he entreated and interceded, in tones so tender and fervent, that it melted the desperate man, who cried for mercy – and mercy came. He bowed in penitence before the Lord and lay down that night on his pallet of straw, a pardoned soul.

Relief came to that dwelling. The wife was lifted from her dirty couch ,and her home was made comfortable. On Sunday, the reformed man took the hand of his little girl and entered the infant class, to learn something about the Savior "who saves to the uttermost." He entered upon a new life. His reform was thorough. He found good employment, for when sober, he was an excellent workman; and next to his Savior, he blesses God for the faith of his little girl, who believed in a Savior able to save to the uttermost all that come unto God by Him.

God's Little Lamb

By Mrs. Debra Caldwell

Cassandra Rose Thomas, known simply as Cassie, stared at her reflection in the mirror and then giggled. She turned her head from side to side and giggled again. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't see any resemblance to a sheep! Why, who had ever heard of a lamb with long blond braids and blue eyes? Her hair was curly, but it certainly didn't look anything like the wool on the sheep they raised.

With a smile still on her face, Cassie returned to the memory work she had been studying for Sunday School. She read the verse silently and then said each word aloud, "For He is our God; and we are the people of His pasture, and the sheep of His hand." (Psalm 95:7)

Then her brow wrinkled in deep thought. Well if I don't look like a sheep, but the Bible says I am one, what can it mean? Maybe I'd better go talk to Mom.

So with that decision made, the nine-year-old hurried off in search of her mother. Her search took her first to the kitchen, since that seemed to be the most likely place to find the lady of the house. Sure enough, there she was.

Mother turned from the counter when she heard her daughter's approaching footsteps. ''Why, Cassie, what deep, serious problem are you pondering? Your face seems to be one big question mark!"

''Well, Mom, I've been studying my memory verse and it says that we are God's sheep. I looked in the mirror and I couldn't see how I looked like any of our lambs!"

At this point, Mom and Cassie enjoyed a good laugh together.

"So, Mom, what does that verse mean? Why does the Bible call us sheep?"

The Thomases raised sheep on their ranch, so they were quite well-acquainted with sheep and their ways. However, Cassie had somehow never realized that God had actually likened people to these animals.

Mrs. Thomas, wise mother that she was, then suggested that Cassie do a little "sheep and people study" for a while.

After a couple of weeks, Cassie realized that she had discovered quite a few things. Some of them were nice, but other things were not exactly complimentary! Oh, it was nice to feel that the Good Shepherd thought of her as one of the cute, cuddly little lambs that she loved so much. However, as Cassie observed the sheep carefully, she realized that they had some character traits that she really didn't want! It was true, though, that people often acted just the way she saw the sheep acting.

Since it was spring and the sheep still had to be fed hay and grain, she saw selfishness in full display. It seemed like each wanted to be the first to the feed. Of course, selfishness and greed are closely connected, so no one seemed to be concerned whether her neighbor had anything to eat, just so her own tummy was full. Cassie's dad told her that sheep will actually eat until they are sick. In fact, they'll sometimes eat so much they get sick and die!

Cassie also realized that those sheep could be mighty stubborn at times. It could prove to be quite a task to persuade one to go in a certain direction if it was not of the mind to do so.

She really thought of the similarity between sheep and people when she saw how they "followed the crowd." The fads that people pursue are proof of that!

Mrs. Thomas received "sheep and people study" reports quite often. Some were humorous, but others were thought-provoking. She was especially glad when Cassie announced one day, "Mom, I want to always let Jesus lead me in the path of righteousness. I want to be the best little lamb that I can possibly be to my Heavenly Shepherd!"

[Published in "The Allegheny Wesleyan Methodist." Used by permission.]

You Can Have My Room

Taken from The Old Country Church Bulletin

Wally was nine years old and in the second grade, though he should have been in the fourth. He was big and clumsy, slow in movement and mind, but well-liked by the other children in class, all of whom were smaller than he. At times the boys did have trouble hiding their irritation when the uncoordinated Wally would ask to play ball with them. He would stand by, not sulking, but hoping. He was a helpful boy, willing and smiling, the natural protector of any child he felt was being mistreated.

As Christmas time approached, plans were made for the annual school pageant. Children were being assigned their parts\--angels, shepherds, wise men, Mary, Joseph. Wally stood by expectantly -- then suddenly his joy knew no bounds, for he heard the teacher say, "Wally, I want you to be the Innkeeper." (Not many lines to learn, she reasoned, and his size would make his refusal of lodging to Joseph more forceful.) Little did that teacher dream the lesson that such a tenderhearted boy would teach to all who would attend that program!

Then came the long-awaited night, and Wally stood, holding a lantern by the door of the inn, watching as the children who portrayed Mary and Joseph came near him. "What do you want?" Wally asked with a brusque gesture. ''We seek lodging."

"Seek it elsewhere\--the inn is filled."

"Sir, we have asked everywhere in vain. We have traveled far and are very weary."

''There is no room in the inn for you." Wally looked properly stern.

"Please, good Innkeeper, this is my wife. She is heavy with child and needs a place to rest. Surely you must have some small corner for her. She is so tired."

Now, for the first time, the Innkeeper relaxed his stiff stance and looked down at Mary. With that, there was a long pause, and the audience became a bit tense.

"No! Begone!" the prompter whispered from the wings.

"No! Begone!" Wally repeated automatically.

Joseph sadly placed his arms around Mary, and Mary laid her head upon her husband's shoulder. The two of them started to move away, but the Innkeeper did not go back inside his inn. Wally stood there in the doorway, watching the forlorn couple. His mouth was open, his brow creased with concern, his eyes filling unmistakably with tears.

And suddenly this Christmas pageant became different from all others.

"Don't go, Joseph," Wally called out, "bring Mary back." His face grew into a bright smile. "You can have my room!"

A burst of laughter--then silence\--then tears flowed freely as the message came through to the listeners. Wally, the boy considered "slow," had made room for Jesus. He could not turn Mary and Joseph away; God's only begotten Son would be welcomed by him! His tender heart had made room for the Savior.

[Used by permission. ]

They Called Him a Dull Boy

By Anna Talbott McPherson

Little Adam Clark lived in the most beautiful spot in the world, so he thought. It was in the village of Moybeg, near Colerain, in the north of Ireland. His father had a farm close by which bordered on the sea with its smooth shore of perfectly level hard sand. Adam took many a dip in the soothing waters and, farther on, where the coastline jutted out ruggedly, he sat on the rocks, and with his rod and line caught fish for evening meals at home. Among these same rocks, he spent pleasant afternoons catching crabs.

Sometimes Adam took a little neighbor boy with him, and one memorable day as they sat on a bank under the wide blue sky listening to the mighty ocean beating on the rocks, the small six-year-old began talking about hell.

"It's all fire," said one, "and awfully dark."

"Yes," shuddered the other, "and when anyone goes there, they never, never can get out. They have to stay there forever."

Silence hung awesomely over the two when, abruptly, a sob escaped one of them. Soon both were weeping bitterly. Then they were praying.

"Oh, God," they cried, "forgive our sins. We don't want to go to hell. We'll be good. We will! We will!"

When Adam reached home he told his mother what had happened. ''And I hope I'll never ... I'll try to never, never use bad words again," he promised. "I'll always obey you and Father too."

Mother Clark felt her heart deeply affected. She put her arm around Adam. ''Always remember what you have promised today, son," she encouraged him, "and God will help you keep your promise. Come, let's kneel and pray and ask Him to."

This was not the first time Adam and his mother had prayed. That was the reason he had felt free to tell her about what had happened out by the sea. Especially on the Lord's Day, Mother often read to Adam, his brother and five sisters. She catechized them. She sang hymns. She interceded with God in their presence and alone for their salvation.

Adam tried his best to be a good boy, but one day in a careless moment, he disobeyed his mother. Without a word, she flew to the Bible and opened it to Proverbs 30:17, "The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it." Mother not only read the verse, but she impressed it upon her boy in awful terms of her own.

Adam was cut to the heart. The words had come directly from Heaven for him! What should he do? Before he knew it, he found himself wandering in a field, He was so distressed he expected judgment to fall any moment. Just then, a raven croaked hoarsely nearby. He was sure it was coming to pick out his eyes! He clapped his hands over them and sped to the house. What a miracle that he escaped the clutches of that awful bird! It was not often that Adam was found disobeying thereafter.

Because Father kept an English and classical school, Adam and Tracy, his brother, were given the responsibility of cultivating the little family farm. This took so much of their time that they could not attend school together. One of them worked the farm in the morning while the other went to school. In the afternoon, they traded off, so that each had half the day to attend school while the other tended the farm. At the end of the day, each would tell the other what they learned in school, so that neither would lose out in his education.

It is said that Adam was rather a dull boy, at least until he was eight years old. Try as he might, he found himself one day utterly unable to commit to memory a lesson assigned to him. Again and again, he went over it, but his mind was as blank as when he started. He threw the book to the floor; what was the use? He tried so hard and failed every time. He might as well give up.

When the teacher called his name, he was suddenly alerted to what he had done.

''Adam.''

''Yes, Ma'am."

What do you mean by throwing your book on the floor? What kind of spirit does that show?"

"Ma'am," Adam stuttered, "It's no use. I just can't learn, that's all."

"You mean to tell me, Adam Clarke, that you're giving up? That you'll not even try anymore? If you don't get an education, you'll be a beggar all your days, that's all, just a beggar. Is that what you want?"

Snickers and jeers rose from Adam's classmates. Adam sat up in his seat as though roused from a deadly lethargy. Something broke within him.

What! He thought to himself, am I going to let myself become a dunce and the laughing-stock of my friends?

He picked up his book. It seemed as though a sudden light had cleared his memory. In record time, he had his lesson, went to the teacher's desk, and repeated it without missing a word.

Later, Adam was wonderfully saved. After hearing a Methodist preacher who came to minister in the parish where the Clarkes lived, he gave up questionable practices and went into a field to pray. He soon concluded there was no mercy for him and arose from his knees. It was then he heard a voice saying, "Try Jesus!"

All right, he thought, and knelt once again and poured out his heart to Jesus. In an instant he found his sorrow turned to joy. All his sorrow and guilt were gone.

Not only was his heart freed from heaviness, but God touched his mind. He now learned more in one day than he had formerly been able to learn in a month.

Later, under John Wesley's appointment, Adam Clarke was admitted into the ministry of the Methodist Church. He served sacrificially. He established schools and found time to write. Today, he is most widely remembered for his commentaries on the Holy Scriptures.

Adam Clarke hurdled the difficulties of his early childhood in the schoolroom and found Christ more precious than all else to his soul.

Mother had not prayed in vain!

[From Praying Parents Take Heart. Used by permission.]

The Little Girl Who Stayed to Pray

By E. & L. Harvey and Trudy Tait

Caroline lived in the country and used to attend the prayer meetings in the country village nearby. As she had listened to the older ones pray and had noticed how God answered, she longed for her own father to also come to know Christ. Then one day it happened.

The congregation had slowly flied out of the village church, but some had still lingered in the vestibule. The minister was walking down the aisles of the church when he noticed Caroline, only twelve years of age, still on her knees. Thinking she had fallen asleep and so had not known that the others had all left, he was about to touch her gently on the shoulder when he started back, for he saw that her lips were moving; she was praying. In order to encourage the child, the kindly minister quoted a verse, ''And all things,whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive."  
(Matthew 21:22)

Caroline looked up into the minister's face and earnestly inquired, "Is it so? Does God say that?" He reached for a Bible and read the passage once more. She did not wait for the man of God to say more, but began pleading, "Lord, send my father to the church! Lord, send my father here!" For half an hour, she continued with her request. Some who had been watching from the door quietly moved back into the room and bowed their heads in prayer. And then the door of the church suddenly was pushed open and a man rushed into the sanctuary of God and ran down the aisle. Then, he sank down upon his knees beside Caroline, exclaiming, "What do you want of me?"

Caroline, overjoyed at such an immediate answer to her prayers, threw her arms around his neck and began to pray again, "O Lord, convert my father!" Soon the tears coursed down the man's weather-beaten cheeks and he began to pray for himself. And then it happened! The peace of God stole into his heart and the prayer of faith which had been inspired by the Heavenly Father in the heart of the twelve-year-old was answered by the One Who alone had planted the desire there.

Caroline's father told later how he had been three miles away from the church when a strange feeling overcame him. While loading goods into a wagon, he felt an irresistible impulse to return home. Driving homeward quickly, he rushed into the house; but upon not finding Caroline, he left the wagon with its goods, and hastened to the church. He found his daughter praying and pleading so earnestly and yet so expectantly for him. And that was how he had been led to the Savior.

[Taken from the book Asking Father, Harvey Christian Publishers, L.L.p. 70 Dodson Drive, Yanceyville, NC 27379. Used by permission.]

Ask, and You Shall Receive

By Georgia McCain

Mom had no trouble arousing her three youngsters \-- Jeffrey, Jessica, and Jason – that bright Saturday morning. Me-Maw and Pap-Paw were visiting from out-of-town and they were going to the flea market. You could buy more with your money at the flea market than at the stores around about town – if you had any money, that is. Thankfully Jeffrey had ten dollars he had been saving. Think of all the goodies he could buy with ten dollars.

They were soon dressed and ready to leave, after a good breakfast Mom had prepared. It was fun riding along and visiting with their grandparents, whom they didn't get to see very often. But before they knew it, they were pulling in at the flea market. After the difficulty of finding a parking space, they all got out and started off together. But each had different ideas of what they wanted, so they soon separated, wandering here and there, searching for bargains.

After an hour or so, one by one became weary and began to drift back to the car. When the last one returned, they started for home. Some were showing their treasures, while others sat quietly, tired from rising early and walking around all morning.

Upon arriving home, Jeffrey, who had decided not to buy anything, discovered that he had lost his ten dollars. Naturally, he was very upset; he had been keeping it to spend later, perhaps after adding some more to it. Everyone helped him search, but to no avail. His money was gone, probably lost at the flea market. There was, as his mom declared, no need to look further,

"But Mom, doesn't the Bible say that if we ask; we shall receive?" Jeffrey protested. Mom didn't want to discourage him from believing the Bible, yet it was quite evident that the money was gone.

Upon retiring that night, his grandparents discussed the matter and decided to give him at least half of it the next morning, as they felt bad over Jeffrey's sad plight. When they got up the next morning, before they had mentioned their plan to his parents, Jeffrey came out of his room with a ten-dollar bill in his hand. "Where did it come from?" all wanted to know. "It was in front of my closet when I got up," Jeffrey replied. "Impossible," his mother declared, "I vacuumed there last night."

"But, Mom," Jeffrey protested, "It was there in plain view when I opened my eyes this morning." His parents thought his grandparents had put it there. The grandparents thought his parents had put it there. Neither was the case. Where did it come from? "Ask, and ye shall receive."

Mom's Unique Way to Settle a Dispute

By Donna McCain Wilson

(Mother of Bryan and Victoria)

Bryan and Victoria were brother and sister, who attended the same school. When Mom would pick them up in the afternoon at three o'clock, they were always hungry and tired of being "cooped up" all day. They would climb into the van, ready to release some energy at each other's expense.

One day Bryan and Victoria had picked at each other and quarreled until Mom was nearly driven to distraction. She separated them, putting them in different seats, but that strategy failed. The teasing continued, and Mom could hardly bear any more. Using her most serious tone of voice, she addressed her daughter, who could not resist lecturing her older brother. ''Victoria, I want you to imagine that the Lord Jesus is sitting beside you, and I want you to behave as you would if He were actually sitting there."

Victoria was silent for a moment and then noticed that her long-legged brother had thrown his feet over the seat beside her. In shocked tones, she exclaimed, "Bryan! Don't put your feet on the Lord Jesus!"

My Gift to Jesus

I wish someone had given Little Jesus

a dog as loyal and loving as mine,

To sleep by His manger and gaze in His eyes,

and adore Him for being Divine.

As our Lord grew to manhood, His own faithful dog

would have followed Him all through the day,

While He preached to the crowds and made the sick well,

and knelt in the garden to pray.

It is sad to remember that Christ went away

to face death alone and apart,

With no tender dog following close behind

to comfort the Master s heart.

And when Jesus rose on that Easter morn,

how happy He would have been,

As His dog licked His hand and barked with delight

for the One who died for all men.

Well, the Lord has a dog now, I just sent Him mine,

this old pal so dear to me,

And I smile through my tears on this first day alone,

knowing they are both waiting for me.

[From The Old Country Church Bulletin. Used by permission.]

A Little Girl Says Grace in a Coffee Shop

Sitting at a lunch counter that had that clean stainless steel and nickel shine was a little girl with her family.

Others were there, college students, a somber-looking man with a briefcase, two young nurses looking a little rumpled and hollow-eyed after a night on duty at the nearby hospital, and a sullen teenager.

The lunch room was quiet except for the occasional sharp crack of an eggshell in the counterman's expert hand, the sputter of frying bacon, and the bored voice of a customer, ordering more coffee.

The twenty-odd people, each seemingly engrossed in his own thoughts, encased in his own shell, were brought together by nothing more binding than the custom of eating in the morning. They did not even have real hunger in common--they were just eating because people do.

And then at the end of the counter, the little girl said in a carrying voice, "Mother, don't we ask the blessing here?"

The counterman stopped wiping the counter and grinned at her suddenly. "Sure we do, sis," he answered. ''You say it."

She bowed her little head. The counterman turned and glared briefly at the customers and bowed his head, too. Up and down the counter, heads went down: the nurses, the students, the man with the briefcase and then, slowly, the teenager.

The breathless little voice was loud in the room: "God is great, God is good, let us thank Him for our food. By His hand we all are fed, He gives to us our daily bread. Amen."

Heads went up along the counter. Eating was resumed, but somehow the atmosphere was subtly changed. The man with the briefcase smiled and remarked to the nurses that he had a new baby in the hospital.

Conversation became general. The counterman smiled at the students. They paused, paying their checks, to talk to him.

Somehow, a bond of friendliness and mutual confidence had grown up in the room. The little girl, not realizing what she had done, put syrup on her waffle and ate it happily.

How Davie Got His Fishing Rod

By E. & L. Harvey and Trudy Tait

Davie pressed his nose flat against the shop window and cupped his hands tight over his forehead to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine. Yes, he could see them--the line of beautiful fishing rod--way back in the shop. "Phew," he said to himself, "Two whole dollars!"

You see, Davie was an American boy, and he and the neighbor boy loved to go fishing during their holidays. Davie scanned the row and there was one that specially looked just the thing for an enthusiastic young fisherman. As the family walked on down the street, Davie tried to talk to his father about the lovely rod, but he seemed too absorbed in his thoughts to do more than say, "um-huh." So a little hand grasped his mother's and he begged her to just go back and have a look at the fishing rods with him. But neither of his parents felt they could spare either the time or the  
money.

The boy found relief by going to his Heavenly Father. Each night, he knelt beside his bed and told God all about that lovely fishing rod. He told him, too, that it only cost $2, but the family did not have the money. After his talk with his Heavenly Father, Davie always felt better and would go to sleep, dreaming of a sunny afternoon down by the river with his brand new, shining rod.

The anxious boy's birthday was only a short time away, and he fondly hoped that somehow he might receive the fishing pole on that day, but that special day came and went and there was no rod. His grandma had sent him a lovely birthday card and as the boy sat fingering the card, two lovely, crisp dollar notes fell out onto the floor. "Just enough for the rod," he exclaimed, as he picked them up.

And then, a cloud passed over the boy's face; it was evident there was a struggle going on in his heart. He had thought of their good friend, Langley, a missionary up in Alaska. A still, small voice seemed to be suggesting that he give one of those dollar notes to Langley for his work of helping others. Davie had always liked the missionary, and the visits he had made to the home had always been occasions for gladness to the boy. He loved to hear stories of his ventures in the far north. Then, too, Davie had been born on Langley's birthday; this was another reason to send one of those crisp dollar bills to him. The boy, never one to do things by halves, got up quickly and went over to the desk and got out a writing pad and an envelope and after writing a few sentences, the dollar was tucked into the envelope and he ran down the street with it to the post box.

The next day was shopping day for the family. As he walked down the main street, Davie fingered the note in his pocket lovingly. No! It was not enough for the rod, but he just wanted to look once again at that teasing display to see if his favorite rod was still there. While his mother was making purchases at the counter at the front of the shop, purposely ignoring the sporting goods at the rear, she felt a persistent tug at her jacket. Turning, she saw the flushed and excited face of her young son.

"Hurry, mum! Come to the back and just see!" He almost pushed her along in his eager excitement to the rows of slanting fishing rods. ''What does that sign say? I can hardly believe what I see."

Davie's mother read the announcement aloud:

TODAY ONLY

All Fishing Rods Only $1.00

But Davie had not stayed to hear it all. Pulling the note out of his pocket in anticipation, he hurried toward the clerk, saying, "I'll have that one, please." The proud little boy placed the wrapped purchase under his arm and as mother and son stepped out of the shop door into the street, a very happy boy said, "I knew God would answer my prayer somehow, Mum, but I didn't expect it to come that way."

"Our Heavenly Father often surprises us in the way He answers," she replied. What an inward glow she felt surge up within her heart, for her faith had been strengthened in the God who knows the tiniest details of our lives from a sparrow falling to ground to a bright, shining fishing rod for a trusting lad.

[From the book Asking Father, Harvey Christian Publishers, L.L.P. 70 Dodson Drive, Yanceyville, NC 27379. Used by permission.]

Three-Year-Old Prays for Mother's Healing

By Marilyn Browning

I had been ill for a month, with a good bit of pain and loss of weight, but had not consulted a doctor. About that time, God, through the Spirit, took me to Heaven and showed me things that eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love and serve Him.

But after that wonderful experience, my pain began to increase, and I went to a doctor in April, 1954. He informed me that I had cancer and had only six months to a year to live. I continued to grow worse until the pain became almost unbearable, and I realized I was going to die or thought I was.

On a Sunday afternoon, my husband carried me downstairs where I could be with my family. My little girl, three years old at the time, came up to my couch and said, "Mommie, can't Jesus heal you?"

"Of course He can," I replied, "but sometimes when we ask him, He says 'no' because He knows what is best for us. He might want to take me on to Heaven."

"Please, Mommie, can I ask Him anyway?"

''Yes, Honey, you can ask Him," I replied. The she knelt down beside me and began to pray. My husband, who was in the kitchen washing dishes, heard her and came in and knelt with her. My little boy, in his playpen at the foot of the couch, came to the bars and joined in. These are the words that the Lord let me hear Kathy pray that day:

"Dear Jesus, I need my Mommie so much. Would You please come and heal her?" Her words faded away, but I could still hear her and the others praying. Then I heard a voice as clear as any I ever heard, saying, "If I could just touch the hem of Your garment I would be made whole."

From my couch, I could see into the kitchen, and draped in the doorway was a glowing, white, shimmering garment. I said, "Oh, yes, Jesus, if I could just touch the hem of Your garment I would be made whole." The moment I said that, the garment slowly started moving toward me.

All I could see was just the lower part of the garment--no hands, feet, or body, just the garment. It floated over a little above my head and behind me, but I was so weak at the time that I couldn't reach for it.

I said, ''Jesus, just give me strength in my arm to touch it; just my arm is all I ask, and I know I will be made whole."

I made the effort, slowly reached up, and touched real material. Noone can make me believe that I didn't! The very instant I touched it, precious, sweet, soothing healing flowed through my body.

I jumped from the couch, saying, "I'm going to church!" I ran up the steps two at a time, rushed into the bedroom and got ready. When I came downstairs, my husband, bless his sweet heart, was still standing in the middle of the floor, wide-eyed and dazed.

"Come on, get ready, honey," I said, as I took our son from his arms. ''We're going to church."

I could see little Kathy, walking up and down in the hallway with tears streaming down her smiling face, saying over and over, "Thank You, Jesus. Thank You, Jesus. I knew You could do it—I knew You could do it!" Oh, for the faith of a child! Her faith took over when I was too weak to have any.

I thank God for all the pain I endured. It was worth it all to see the hand of God working through the faith of a child.

Marilyn Browning, still living and being used of God today, is a personal friend of the author.

Innocent Little Katie

By G. C. Bevington

Brother G. C. Bevington was walking toward a bakery one day to buy some food for a poor family, when he heard a voice saying, "Go out to Katie's!" Katie was a little girl from a drunkard's home whom he had won to Jesus. In turn, she had told her parents about Him and had won them both to the Lord. When the voice kept ringing through his ears, he took the money he was to buy food with and caught a bus to Katie's. Here is his story:

I stepped upon the porch and knocked on the door. I then heard a sob, and a faint voice said, "Come in." When I stepped in, there sat Katie back in the corner caring for the baby. She said, "Oh, mama, here is Brother Bevington." Well, I saw that Katie had been crying, for her eyes were all red. I stepped up to her, laid my hand on her head, and said, ''What is the trouble with my Katie?"

At that, the mother came in, gave me a hearty handshake, and said, "Brother Bevington, I am so glad you came out. I have been praying these twenty-four hours for God to send you out. Sit down  
here, and I will tell you why Katie has been crying so much. You see that house?" She pointed to it.

"Yes."

''Well, those people are quite well of£ They have a boy, Edward, about Katie's age, a nice boy. He bought a croquet set, and it was in the orchard under the trees. When out of school, Katie takes the baby over there and she and Edward play croquet. Well, night before last, when they were playing, Edward's mama called him to go to the grocery, so Katie waited for him. He was soon back and they resumed play, but soon his mother called again, and this time he was gone longer, so Katie came over to assist me in getting supper. Well, when Edward came back, he gathered up the balls  
and found one missing."

Satan said to Edward, "Now Katie stole the ball, as she was the only one out here."

"Yes," Edward said to himself, "she surely did, and I am going to tell her so." So he ran into the house and said, "I ain't goin' to have Katie Brown come over here any more."

''Why, Edward, what is wrong with Katie?"

"Why, she stole one of my balls."

"Now you know better than that," said his mother. "No, I know she did," he replied. So he ran over here and said, "I ain't going to have Katie come over any more."

"Why?"

'"Well, she stole one of my balls."

"Oh, no."

"Yes, she did. No one else was there, and one is gone." Well, Katie was in the dining room caring for the baby and she came to the door and said, ''Why, I never did."

"Yes, you did," said Edward, and he went out and nailed up that hole in the fence. Well, that was a hard blow on poor Katie. Although her parents had been drunkards, now they had not drank any for over two years, she was being looked upon as a nice little girl. Now, to have this said of her was just about all she could stand, so she cried and sobbed all night. So the mother told the father.

"Well," he said, "we know she never did." Then Katie did not want to go to school, but they coaxed her to go. At recess, none of the children would play with her, nor allow her to play with them, for Edward, who would buy things for the other children, was a leader in the school. He had told them that Katie had stolen his ball; that she was a thief, and that they must not play with her. Well, poor Katie just sobbed and cried when she came home at noon. She told how the children had treated her, and said, "Oh, Mamma, don't make me go to school!" Then her mother said, "Oh, Katie, I think you ought to go to school. Mamma doesn't want you to miss a day. I will be praying for God to send Brother Bevington out, and he will help us get this matter straightened out."

Well, Katie went, but they treated her worse. They all called her a thief and, as they came home at night, all of them went on the opposite side of the street. The worst thing was that they said her father was nothing but an old drunkard anyway and wasn't fit to live with decent folks. She just could not stand that, and hurried home, crying as if her heart would break, and said, "Oh, Mamma, please don't make me go to school tomorrow. Oh, Mamma, I just can't endure it. Let me stay at home."

When the father came, he said, "Well, let her stay home, and we will pray for God to send Brother Bevington." So they prayed, the mother praying all night.

While the mother related this to me, Katie sat in the corner, sobbing. I went over and laid my hand on her head and said, "Katie, I am sure you never took the ball."

"No, I never took it; but we can't prove it, and it will kill me unless we move away from here." I tell you, she was crying as though her heart would break. I said, "Katie, you belong to Jesus, don't you?" Between sobs, she said, ''Yes.''

''Yes,'' said her mother. "Katie is a real Christian girl. She reads the Bible and prays every night and morning. She has gotten over twenty-five scholars in the Sunday School. She is a faithful little soldier for Jesus."

I said, "Katie, don't you remember the time Jesus healed you?"

''Yes, I do."

''Well, don't you believe that ~ He will answer prayer today?"

''Yes, I know He does, but how could He show Edward where that ball is?"

''Well,'' I said, "let's get down on our knees and let Jesus talk and work for us."

First Sister Brown prayed, then Katie. Then I started to pray. In two or three minutes, I had reached the point. I said, "Dear Jesus, Thou art showing Edward right now where the ball is."

"Hold on," said Satan, "he can't be doing that. Edward is supposed to be in school."

Then I shouted, "He is doing it right now." After three times, the glory fell and Katie jumped up, threw her arms around me, a-laughing and crying.

"Oh, Brother Bevington," she said, "I do believe it. Oh, I am so happy." I looked at her face and all the furrows were gone; all was bright, and she looked so beautiful. I then heard a "rattle-te-bang," and off went that board, and Edward came in with the ball.

His hands were all covered with blood and his face was scratched. He knelt down in front of Katie. He said afterwards that was the first time he had ever been on his knees. But he just wept like a good boy and asked her forgiveness, as he had found his ball. Well, we had a great time rejoicing over it and I said, "Now, Edward, we want you to tell us how you found the ball and why you are not in school."

Edward told how he had gone to school and studied hard and had all his lessons by afternoon recess and the teacher allowed him to go home early. So he started down the street running, as he was so glad to be out of school. When he got about halfway down from the corner of his father's lot, a voice said to him, "Go back and go through the orchard." He looked around and saw no one so he started on. But the voice was heard again and again, so he had to go back and crawl on his hands and knees through the briars. When he was about two-thirds through, his hand truck something. He brushed the leaves away and there was the ball.

Later, Brother Bevington went out to play croquet with the children to try to find out how the ball got where it had been. As they played, a small puppy came up, grabbed the ball, and ran into the bushes. Brother Bevington said, "Oh, Edward, that is the way that ball got up there."

So you see how God can and will work if we are fully yielded to Him.

[Taken from the book, Remarkable Incidents and Modern Miracles Through Prayer and Faith, by G. C. Bevington.]

Bud Wasn't Too Young to Understand

By Mrs. C.R. McPherson

Bud Morrison couldn't sleep. Aunt Lizzie got up and sat in a rocker with him in her arms. "The child is not well," she said to Grandma and Grandpa, who had also gotten out of bed to see what was wrong. "He is not well," she repeated. "He's nervous."

No, Aunt Lizzie couldn't figure out what was wrong. But Bud knew, and could have relieved his mind, as well as the minds of the others, if he had told, but he didn't. The truth was, he had slipped away and gone fishing with some other boys without permission. He had not dared to bring the fish home. Somehow, what he had done did not seem so bad in the daylight, but when night came, a great fear filled his heart. He had sinned!

Aunt Lizzie rocked and rocked. She crooned an old-time hymn. Just being close to Aunt Lizzie and hearing her sing about Jesus helped Bud to relax and he was soon fast asleep.

When the new preacher, Brother Phillips, came to the neighborhood where the Morrisons lived, some of Bud's schoolmates went to the altar and found Christ. But Bud was small for his age and timid.

"If I go to the altar," he thought to himself, "people will say, 'Bud Morrison doesn't know what he is doing. He isn't old enough to have sense enough to understand the Gospel. He isn't old enough to get saved and live a Christian life.' "

But Bud was sure he did have sense enough to know what it was all about. Many nights during the revival, he sat near the front. "Maybe if I get up close," he thought, "someone will come and speak to me when the altar call is given and that will make it easier for me to go forward."

All through the revival, Christians went up and down the aisles inviting sinners to the mourners' bench. Bud's cheeks were often wet with tears because of his sins, but no one took any notice of him. No one invited him to the altar of prayer. He didn't know what to make of it all. A great sadness stole into his heart. It was hard sometimes not to feel resentful about being left out.

The next spring, when Bud had plowed corn on the hillside, Satan walked with him along the corn rows behind the plow and made him feel he was the only friend he had. ''You see how nobody asked you to go to the altar," Satan reminded him. ''You are young. Besides, you are only an orphan boy and you don't have any money. No one cares about you. Time and again, you went up and sat at the front of the church, hoping that someone would speak to you, but no one came. If I were you, I'd get even with them. I'd do all the bad things I wanted to do and really make them sorry they didn't help you get saved while you were a little boy."

It would have been easy for Bud to take the enemy's suggestions. But then, he thought of Brother Phillips. Whenever he saw him, with his head bowed, riding his horse up the road, Bud would lean against the plow handles and talk to himself. He would say, "There goes Brother Phillips. If there's a Christian in the world, he's one. And if I owned the world, I'd give it to have what he's got. But nobody cares for me." Then Bud remembered that Brother Phillips did say he was glad to see him at church. This had so thrilled him that he went home and told Aunt Lizzie, "Brother Phillips said he was glad to see me at church!"

Days and weeks passed and conference time came. Bud was so afraid Brother Phillips would not be sent back to their church, that he promised the Lord if the good man did come back, he would go to the altar and try to get saved whether anyone asked him or not.

It was the fall of the year, and as Bud was digging potatoes in a patch near the road, he saw a member of the church riding by.

"Have you heard from the conference?" Bud shouted.

''Yes,'' answered the man.

"Who's going to be our circuit rider?" Bud asked, feeling that his heart was almost in his throat.

"Same man as last year--Brother Phillips," came the reply.

Bud was so happy he could have shouted. Then, right away, conviction shot through him like an arrow. Something within him seemed to say, "Now when he holds his revival, you will have to get religion or you will be a liar and be lost forever." Yes, he would have to keep his promise, that was sure!

Many times, Bud almost backed down, but each time he was about to give up, he would see Brother Phillips riding up the road. Strange how that affected him--just an orphan plow boy. Even though Brother Phillips didn't see Bud or speak to him, just seeing him not only reminded Bud of his promise, but made him feel that he would rather have Brother Phillips' kind of religion than to own the world. The man was so holy that the ground in the cornfield three or four hundred yards from the road seemed almost too sacred for Bud to walk on.

Just as Bud knew he would, Brother Phillips held his revival meeting in a few weeks at Boyd's Creek Church. Bud prayed at the altar several nights, but all was dark. Then it came to the last night of the meeting. He felt he had to get saved that night or never. But clouds came up in the evening, and it looked as though it would rain.

"Son," Grandfather said, "It looks like it might rain tonight and, if it does, you mustn't go to church."

Bud felt he would be lost forever if he didn't get to church that night. "Dear Jesus," he prayed with all his heart, "please don't let it rain!"

Just as the sun was going down, the clouds parted and the whole country lighted up.

"Grandfather," Bud exclaimed, "it's not going to rain!"

"All right," Grandfather consented, "you may go."

Bud galloped his pony almost all the way to church. People were kneeling at the altar praying, even before the service began. Bud went and got down at a bench in the Amen corner with his face to the wall. Soon others were finding Jesus--even one of Bud's boyfriends did--but Bud was still weeping over his sins, sure he had been too wicked to be forgiven. By this time, he was flat on the floor.

Presently, Uncle Emory scooped him up in his arms and hugged him close. "Buddie," he whispered, as he pressed his mouth against Bud's ear, "Buddie, God is not mad at you." A ray of hope shot through the boy. ''What, Uncle? What did you say?"

Uncle was quiet for a minute and then he whispered, "Buddie, God loves you."

Bud was so thrilled he tried to get Uncle to say that again.

"Buddie," Uncle went on, "God loves you so much He gave His only Son to die for you."

Something inside of Bud said, "That's so." Just then the heavy burden of his heart fell off. He leaped to his feet and praised God that he was saved.

Bud never did go back on the Lord. When he grew up, he was known far and wide as Dr. H.C. Morrison, the evangelist.

[From The Shining Path Sunday School Paper\--Old Paths Tract Society, Shoals, Ind. Used by permission.]

He Took My Whipping for Me

Rev. A.G. Dixon, the great Baptist preacher, who was born in the mountains of Virginia, relates the following:

Years ago, there was a certain school in this section which no teacher could handle. The boys were so rough that the teacher resigned.

A young, gray-eyed teacher applied, and the old director scanned him, then he said, ''Young fellow, do you know what you are asking? An awful beatin'! Every teacher we have had for years has had to take it."

He replied, "I'll risk it."

Finally, he appeared for duty. One big fellow, Tom, whispered, "I don't need any help. I can lick him myself!"

The teacher said, "Good morning, boys! We have come to conduct school, but I confess I do not know how unless you help me. Suppose we have a few rules. You tell me and I will write them on the blackboard."

One fellow yelled, "No stealing!" Another cried, "On time!" Finally ten rules appeared.

"Now," said the teacher, "a law is no good unless there is a penalty attached. What shall we do with the one who breaks them?"

"Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on."

"That is pretty severe, boys. Are you ready to stand by it?" Another yell, and the teacher said, "School comes to order."

In a day or so, "Big Tom" found his dinner was stolen. Upon inquiry, the thief was located--a hungry little fellow, about ten. The next morning, the teacher announced, "We have found the thief and he must be punished according to your rule--ten stripes across the back! Jim, come up here!"

The little fellow, trembling, came up slowly with a big coat fastened up to the neck and pleaded, "Teacher, you can lick me as hard as you like, but please don't make me take my coat off!"

"Take that coat off; you helped make the rules."

"Oh, Teacher, don't make mel" He began to unbutton, and what did the teacher behold? Lo, the lad had no shirt on, but strings for bracers across his little bony body.

"How can I whip this child," thought he. "But I must do something if I keep this school." Everything was quiet as death.

"How come you to be without a shirt, Jim?"

He replied, "My father died and my mother is very poor. I have only one shirt to my name, and she is washing that today, and I wore my brother's big coat to keep warm."

The teacher, with rod in hand, hesitated. Just then "Big Tom" jumped to his feet and said, Teacher, if you don't object, I will take Jim's licking for him."

"Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?"

Off came Tom's coat and after five hard stokes the rod broke! The teacher bowed his head in his hands and thought, "How can I finish this awful task?"

Then he heard the entire school sobbing, and what did he see? Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck.

"Tom, I am sorry I stole your dinner, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I'll love you till I die for taking my licking for me. Yes, I'll love you forever!"

Dear friend, you have broken every rule and deserve eternal punishment! But Jesus Christ took your scourging for you, died in your stead and now offers to clothe you with His garments of salvation. Will you not fall at His feet and tell Him you will love and follow Him forever?

"The wages of sin is death. but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."

[From a tract by Old Paths Tract Society, Shoals, Ind.]
A Prodigal Welcomed Home

The train was crowded, and the only seat left was beside a young lad who looked to be no more than fifteen years of age. The minister set his handbag down and sat beside the boy. Desiring to be pleasant, he made some commonplace remarks about the fact that everyone was hurrying home for Christmas, but the lad did not answer--he had been crying. Puzzled, the minister ceased his attempts at conversation and waited for the boy to speak.

Across the aisle, two soldiers listened with rapt attention to the music from a portable radio. Someone was singing, "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas," and the whole coach was filled with the music. Somehow, that song seemed to draw the preacher and the boy closer together. When the melody died on the phrase, ''And may all your Christmases be white," the boy gave a convulsive sob.

Turning away from him, the minister gazed out the opposite window at the snow-covered landscape. It was going to be a white Christmas, all right. Great flakes of snow were coming down, and the window was almost covered. He thought of the long ride ahead of him and wondered how far the boy had to go. "Too bad," he thought to himself, "the boy is in trouble." It did not seem right for a boy to cry on Christmas Eve.

As if sensing the preacher's thoughts, the boy began to wipe his eyes. When he finally looked around, he was trying to act as if nothing was wrong. The minister smiled at him, and he answered with a grin.

"It sure looks cold out there," the boy volunteered. Grabbing at the chance to talk, the preacher began to tell of the cold days he had seen during his boyhood, of the trying job of milking two cows in sub-zero weather, and of the pleasure of a roaring fire in the living room at night after the chores were through.

''You know," he said, "I sometimes think we can stand almost anything, if we have something nice to look forward to. Take me, for instance. I have been traveling for a long time, and I have a good, long trip ahead of me yet; but I know that when I get home, my family will be waiting for me, and my little boy will be looking forward to the Christmas presents. It is a great thing, going home for Christmas!"

He watched the boy, and saw a quiver pass over the sensitive young face. The boy choked back a sob and then answered, "It is--sometimes."

"Clumsy dunce!" said the preacher to himself, "now you have barged in where you shouldn't. Perhaps, the boy has recently lost his father or mother." Then aloud, he said, "Excuse me, son. Maybe, I said the wrong thing. I do not know about your troubles, and you do not have to tell me unless you want to. But I am a preacher, and I might be able to help you with your problem."

The boy looked at the minister for a moment, and then said, "I want to tell you\--I have got to tell someone."

"All right then, let's hear it."

The boy laid his head back and looked out the window as he began:

"I guess I do not deserve much Christmas, but I cannot help wanting it. I have been away from home four months now. I got fed up with school and all the chores I had to do. Nothing ever happens in our town. Dad has a store and farms on the side. Our place is just on the edge of town. We keep two cows, too. I got tired of milking them in the winter mornings before daylight and then coming home from school to feed and water and milk them all over again. All the other fellows were getting jobs.

"One day I ran away from home. I did not think much about how bad it was, or how I would get along after I got where I was going. I just went--hopped a freight that went through town early in the morning, and by night was in St. Louis. I had never seen a place as big as that, and I was scared. I had some money with me, but it didn't last long.

"I guess grown folks can tell how old a boy is no matter how big he looks. They told me to go back home\--but you see, that was the trouble. I felt my parents would be angry with me, and even if they weren't, I hated to go sneaking back there like a whipped dog. I get awful lonesome, especially at night. I went home with another boy, but it wasn't like my home.

"Finally, I wrote Dad. I did not give him an address, but I told him I would be on this train today. If they wanted me, I would stop; if they didn't want me, I would keep on going. I guess it was a foolish thing to do, but I just couldn't stand to think of getting a letter from him telling me that he did not want me back, and I did ot want him to come after me. I figured out this way, so it would be easier on us all. But now I'm scared!"

The preacher looked at his young companion and knew that he meant it. ''What are you afraid of, son?" he asked.

"I'm afraid they won't want me."

"But how will you know?"

He rubbed his fist on the steamy window-pane until a small portion was clear. It was growing dark now, and the snow was falling fast, but the few houses stood out as if etched against the soft, fuzzy sky.

"Just a little farther," he said in a low voice, and then hid his eyes. "I can't look," he said desperately. "I can't."

"What is it you are looking for? Some sign to let you know if they're expecting you?"

''Yes, that's it," came the muffled reply. "I told Dad if he wanted me back, to tie a white rag in the old apple tree in the front yard. It is near the railroad, and we can see it plain. We're just about there now--but I just can't look!'

He was crying now; the minister's eyes were also misty. Leaning over, he put an arm around the youngster and patted his shoulder. "That's all right, son. You don't have to look. I'll be your eyes; I'll tell you when I see it."

"But I am afraid you won't see it," he sobbed. "I'm afraid they don't want me anymore."

Suddenly, the hoarse note of the train whistle broke in upon them and the boy sat up. ''We are almost there," he said. ''You look and see--I can't."

The train was slowing to a stop now as it came around a long curve. The minister strained his eyes to peer through the falling snow. He must not fail. But he need not have worried, for a half-blind man could have seen that tree.

Laughing and crying, the minister pulled the lad up to the window. "Look there," he said, "the apple tree is all bloomed out."

And sure enough it was, for upon its bare branches hung, not one, but at least fifty white rags which gaily fluttered in the brisk wind like banners of forgiving love.

Such is the spirit of Christmas, and such is the welcome and unbounded forgiveness of our Heavenly Father when the penitent sin-sick wanderer returns to the Father's house.

[Taken from The Shining Light by Old Paths Tract Society. Used by permission.]

I Brought You Something, Grandma

By Ethel M. Smith

"I brought you something, Grandma, "

cried a little girl of four,

And some roses from the florist's

could never have pleased me more.

In her chubby little fingers

she was clutching a bouquet

of some blossoms she had gathered

from the cockle in the hay.

Then she quickly drew some water,

put them in a vase herself;

I was happy to display them

There upon the kitchen shelf.

'Twould have been unkind to tell her

That the flowers were a weed,

So I thanked the precious darling

for her kind and loving deed.

It was not the dainty blossoms

That had made me feel so glad,

But I knew that Trudy loved me,

and she gave the best she had.

And from this I drew a lesson

Which I would to you impart;

Though our gifts to God be faulty,

He is looking on our heart.

When at last we stand before Him

For the great and final test,

He'll understand and say "Tis well, "

if we've given Him our best.

[From The Old Country Church Bulletin.]

Do Chickens Lay Eggs on Sunday?

~

By Georgia McCain

-~

Chris was a little boy who lived with his grandparents. He enjoyed going to church and at times, the truths of God's Word would find lodging in his little heart. At this particular time, the subject of Sabbath Day desecration had been discussed, and as he was going home from church, he would be stirred to see places of business open on Sunday. He would comment, "Look, Pap-paw, they are open today."

He sat by his grandfather in church and one Sunday, the subject of Sabbath Day desecration evidently still gripping his heart, he whispered, "Pap-paw, do chickens lay eggs on Sunday?" He enjoyed gathering the eggs and so was concerned to know if there would be any to gather that day.

Another time, his grandmother woke him up to go to school. He aroused himself and sat on the side of the bed looking very tired and sleepy. Looking up at his grandmother who was standing by his bedside to make sure he got up, he said, "Grandma, you're lucky. You are old and senile. You can go back to bed." He couldn't understand why Grandma thought that was so funny!

When I Was Arrested

By H.C. Morrison

When I was a little boy two years of age, my mother died. When I was four years of age, my father died. I was living here and there and I was a sinner. I was to be fourteen years of age, the tenth of the coming March.

It was Christmas week, and I was caught in sin and put under arrest and dragged to the court. I did not cry. I had cried all the tears out of my head. I tried to look at the judge. I wished that I could faint. I was guilty. I did not have a friend.

I was miserable. And they packed the courthouse. They looked at me and then at the judge. Their faces said, "Judge, give him the full benefit of the law and save trouble later on." It looked as if the whole universe was down on me.

By and by, the clerk stood up and said, "The court is open." The judge said, "Has this boy anyone to represent him?"

I did not know the meaning of this. I thought that fellow was the one who was going to take me out and hang me. They said, "No." I was hopeful. The judge said to the lawyer, "I appoint you to take this boy's case."

He walked through the crowd, pushed the policemen aside, and took me into a room. I slunk into a corner. I thought he was going to drag me to execution. But I saw tears under his eyelashes. He sat down and slipped his arm around me. It was the tenderest touch I ever felt, and it drew me to him.

"My little friend, are you guilty?" he asked.

I could not have lied to him to save the world. He gave me a little squeeze. I said, "Yes, sir, I am guilty, and lots more they don't know about."

When I looked at him, I could not lie. I had found a friend. I feel his hand yet. Oh, it was a wonderful touch to an orphan child!

He said, "Don't you think we had better confess guilty and throw you on the mercy of the court?"

I did not know what that meant, but I thought if he would throw me, it was best. I said, "Please, sir, throw me on the mercy of the court."

He put his hand on my head, and I put out my dirty, clawlike fingers and grabbed his coattail, and the feeling came to me, "If I hang on to his coat, he'll pull me through."

He came to the judge and said, "Please, Your Honor, it has been my privilege to practice before the bar for many years. I have noticed that when the ends of justice can be secure and society can be protected, it is Your Honor's custom to show mercy. I stand with this trembling orphan child, without father or mother, home or friends, to beg Your Honor's mercy. His heart is broken. He confesses with readiness his sin. He pleads for forgiveness."

I grabbed some more coat. I thought that was a great speech. It was just an introductory remark. He spoke until silence fell everywhere. He spoke until the most beautiful language filled every comer of the court. He spoke until old men wept. He spoke until my policeman was brushing tears from his cheeks. He spoke until he said, "If you will show compassion to the orphan child, I pledge, Your Honor, to look after his education and give society a useful citizen."

He spoke until my heart burst within me for love and admiration for my friend. I felt that if I could but put my ragged coat sleeves around his neck and kiss his cheek one time, they could take me and hang me, and I would die happy.

He spoke and said, "My father." That shot through me. The judge had appointed his own son to plead for me! Like as not he would have mercy on me! "My father, the intentness of my love for my little client comes out of the fact that he is my brother."

I wasn't much on mathematics, but I could see at once that if the judge on the bench was the father of the attorney, and the attorney was my brother, then the judge was my father, too. I gave a shout. I made a leap, and the judge stood up and said, "Rejoice, for the lost is found, and the dead is alive." And all the people in that courtroom began to say, "Glory!"

I need not tell you that scene was not in a courthouse, but it was in an old Methodist church. Jesus pleaded my case and revealed to me that God was my Father. It went to my heart as an orphan boy, and I could say, "My Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name."

Jesus came to reveal that God is love, that God is merciful, that God is compassionate, that God is a Savior, that whoever cometh shall not come in vain, but there is mercy and salvation free for all.

H. C. Morrison later became a preacher and bishop, and was president of Asbury College from 1910 to 1925.

[Taken from The Old Country Church Bulletin, Sarcoxie, Mo. Used by permission.]

A Hiding Place

By Cecil Driscoll

Nine-year-old Adan slapped his little mule excitedly as he looked at the old hollow tree which had been struck by lightning years before. "There is my hiding place!" he exclaimed. "Jesus will never find me there!" Pleased with himself, he turned the little mule loose in the pasture and started to walk toward his humble little home in the mountains of Honduras in Central America.

Just why did a nine-year-old boy want to hide in the trunk of a hollow tree? It had all begun several days before when his uncle had given him a New Testament. He knew how to read and was happy with his new possession.

But Adan did an unwise thing. He started to read the last of the Book first. He read the twenty-second chapter of Revelation. It told of Heaven where they need have no candle, not even the light of the sun, for Jesus Himself will give the light. What a wonderful place to go when a person is old enough to die, Adan thought. He read on in chapter twenty-one. Suddenly he closed the book, his heart pounding. He had no desire to read more. He had just read verse eight, "But ... all liars shall have their part in the lake of fire which burneth with fire and brimstone."

He was remembering some of the stories he had told to his playmates, stories that were not true. It had been fun at the time to see how much they would believe. He liked to watch their eyes grow bigger as his tales grew greater.

He thought of the times he had lied to his mother by telling her that something he had bought at the store cost more than it actually did. He had spent the few cents difference on candy. He had thought then that he was very clever.

Now Adan was by no means sure that he felt so proud of himself. In fact, he was becoming more and more ashamed as he saw sin as God always sees it--something so terrible and so harmful that it finally leads the soul to a lake of fire that was prepared for the devil and his angels, not for man.

But what could he do now? He had lied in ignorance of God's Word, without knowing about the lake of fire awaiting liars. Now it was too late; the deeds were done! At the coming of Christ his punishment would begin.

Adan could not put the thought out of his mind; fear haunted him day and night. His mother must have noticed that something was wrong, for perhaps he did not eat so many tortillas and beans as usual.

Then he had taken his mule to pasture and noticed the large hollow tree. The children had often used it as a hiding place in such games as hide-and-seek. Why should he go to the lake of fire when the old hollow tree stood there? It should be his hiding place!

Each day as he passed through the pasture lot, he would say to himself, "There is my hiding place! Jesus will not find me there when He comes." He had not learned that we cannot hide from God, that the Bible says, "Thou God seeth me."

But in spite of not knowing God's Word, not knowing that God is everywhere present, and that He knows all things, Adan was not happy. He began to question the matter of a hiding place. The sight of the old hollow tree failed to bring him comfort. He was tormented again by thoughts of the lake of fire.

About that time Adan decided to read again from his New Testament. This time he began reading at the first of the Book. Soon he had come to John 3:16. He read, "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Hope sprang up in his heart as he read verses which made it clear that God loved him and there was salvation for him. He felt like he no longer needed the old hollow tree for a hiding place.

Soon missionaries came to Adan's village. Oh, the joy he felt as he listened to their songs and messages! He had never before heard such good news. They said just what his Book said--that he could be saved from sin and go to Heaven when he died or when Jesus came.

He watched the missionaries leave the village on their mules. "Someday," he thought, "I want to ride over these mountains and tell the people about Jesus."

Some of the boys did not feel about the missionaries as Adan did. They made fun of them. This made Adan so angry that he fought the boys. Then he felt troubled because he knew in his heart that fighting would not please God.

In one of their meetings, the missionaries gave an invitation for those who wanted to be saved and seek the Lord. Adan was among the first to pray and ask the Lord to forgive his sins.

He confessed to the Lord his sins of lying and fighting, It was just like his Book said, "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." God forgave him! His heart felt light and joy filled his soul.

By reading his New Testament, Adan learned to walk with God in obedience to Him. God gave him the desire of his heart. For many years he has ridden over the mountains of Honduras telling people about Jesus.

He smiles now at the thought of the old hollow tree. No longer does he want to hide from God; he is happy to know that God is with him. He quotes Psalms 32:7, "Thou art my hiding place."

When Jesus comes, he will meet Him with gladness of heart because he has found in Him a hiding place.

[From a tract by F. E. A. Sonlite Ministry, PO Box 1065, Hobe Sound, Fla. 33455.]

A Homework Assignment

By Danny Dutton

[The following was written by an eight-year-old boy for a homework assignment to "explain God." It's interesting to see God through the mind of a young child.]

One of God's main jobs is making people. He makes them to replace the ones that die so that there will be enough people to take care of things on Earth. He doesn't make grown-ups. Just babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way, He doesn't have to take up His valuable time teaching them to walk and talk, He can leave that to mothers and fathers.

God's second most important job is listening to prayers. An awful lot of this goes on, since some people, like preachers, pray at times other than bedtime. God doesn't listen to the radio or TV.

Because He hears everything, there must be a terrible lot of noise in His ears, unless He has thought of a way to turn it off. God sees everything, and hears everything, which keeps Him pretty busy. So you shouldn't be wasting His time going over Mom or Dad's head asking for something they said you couldn't have. Atheists are people who don't believe in God. I don't think there are any in Chula Vista. At least, there aren't any that come to our church.

Jesus is God's Son. He used to do all the hard work like walking on water and performing miracles and trying to teach people who didn't want to learn about God. They finally got tired of His preaching to them and they crucified Him. But He is good and kind like His Father, and he told His Father that they didn't know what they were doing, and to forgive them, and God said okay.

His Father appreciated everything He had done and all His hard work on earth so He told Him that He didn't have to go on the road anymore, He could stay in Heaven. So He did.

Now He helps His Father out by listening to prayers and seeing which things are important for God to take care of and which ones He can take care of Himself without having to bother God. Kind of like a secretary, but more important.

You may pray anytime you want, and they are sure to hear you because they got it worked out so that one of them is on duty all the time.

You should always go to church on Sunday because it makes God happy, and if there's anybody you want to make happy it's God. Don't skip church to do something you think will be more fun. Like go to the beach. That's wrong.

If you don't believe in God, besides being an atheist, you will be very lonely, because your parents can't go everywhere with you, like to camp, but God can. It's good to know He's around when you are scared in the dark, or when you can't swim, and you get thrown into real deep water by the big kids.

But you shouldn't always just think about what God can do for you. I figure God put me here and he can take me back anytime He pleases. And that's why I believe in God.

A Child's Prayer Answered

By S. B. Shaw

The following incident happened in New York on one of the coldest days in February.

A little boy about ten years old was standing before a shoe store on Broadway, barefooted, peering through the window and shivering with cold.

A lady riding up the street in a beautiful carriage, drawn by horses finely caparisoned, observed the little fellow in his forlorn condition, and immediately ordered the driver to draw up and stop in front of the store. The lady, richly dressed in silk, alighted from her carriage, went quickly to the boy, and said, "My little fellow, why are you looking so earnestly in that window?"

"I was asking God to give me a pair of shoes," was the reply. The lady took him by the hand and went into the store, and asked the proprietor if he would allow one of his clerks to go and buy a dozen pairs of stockings for the boy. He readily consented. She then asked if he could give her a basin of water and a towel, and he replied, "Certainly," and quickly brought them to her.

She took the little fellow to the back part of the store, and, removing her gloves, knelt down, and washed those little feet and dried them with the towel.

By this time, the young man had returned with the stockings. Placing a pair upon his feet, she purchased and gave him a pair of shoes, and tying up the remaining pairs of stockings, gave them to him. Patting him on the head, she said, "I hope, my little fellow, that you now feel more comfortable."

As she turned to go, the astonished lad caught her hand and, looking up into her face, answered her with these words: ''Are you God's wife?"

[From Touching Incidents and Remarkable Answers to Prayer by S.B. Shaw.]

A Wonderful Christmas Story

By Nadine S. Ruth

Almost ready, dear?" Mr. Temple stood outside the bedroom door where his wife was superintending the dressing of a very sweet little maid.

''All but my coat," answered the child.

The warm coat was gotten, and the little lady slipped into it. Throwing her mother a kiss, she went to join her father.

"Bye, Maxine, dear; remember you are doing it for Jesus' sake," called the mother.

It was a very pure, sweet, fair picture that little twelve-year-old Maxine made as she trudged beside her father that clear, cold Christmas Eve. It was just six months since she had sought and obtained cleansing from all her sins from the dear Savior. Since then, she had lived in His presence as in that of a beloved Friend. Tonight, she was going to take her mother's place and sing in the street meeting. Usually, it was her task to stay home with the younger children, but tonight her mother was almost sick with a cold, and they did not want to miss singing the carols this night of all nights. This was such a home night that it had been hard to get anyone to help in the street meeting. It would be just Mrs. Sturges, Maxine and her father. Along the city's streets they passed, jostled by last-minute shoppers. Presently, they came to an older section of the town. The displays in the shop windows were more shabby. When they came to Aliso Street, they stopped and all three began to sing Silent Night. Later, the clear sweet voice of Maxine rang out over the dirty snow-covered streets. Her hymn, It Came Upon the Midnight Clear, just suited her. Her voice rang out, "From angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold."

"Sure sounds like one," muttered the shadowy figure crouching behind an old wall as he moved to adjust his eye to a small hole.

''Just a little gal--about Sally's age," he whispered, "but, oh, so different," the last with a catch in his voice.

The unaffected child continued to sing, "Oh, hush, ye noisy men of strife, and hear the angels sing."

"I'm listening, little one. Ed De Lacy is listening to ye, but it is good ye don't know it, my little angel, or ye could not sing so peaceably. But ye wouldn't need to fear; I wouldn't harm a hair of your head \-- no, not even if I pulled my own little gal around by the hair. I wouldn't ever, if I had been myself \-- myself, yes, but myself has been a great sinner in my day. You would never know I came of a religious family. A real great sinner I am. Wonder what the Lord will ever do with me. If 'twasn't that I wanted to put off a purgatory as long as possible, Ed De Lacy wouldn't cumber the earth very long."

''And ye, beneath life's crushing load."

"Ah, that's me," the rough hand wiped the falling tear. A crushing load of crime. "Oh," and the shadowy figure shook with suppressed sobs. The song was ended, and the little girl was waiting silently while her father spoke earnestly, pleading with sinners to come and have their sins washed away.

"God, how I'd like to, but I've gone too far. No wonder she's different from Sally; her dad's a lot different, too. Man, what wouldn't I give to be able to stand in your shoes."

Again Maxine sang. This time it was: "My sins rose high as a mountain, they all disappeared in the fountain. He wrote my name down for a palace and a crown, and now praise the Lord, I am free."

A man bounded over the wall, and falling down on the pavement, began to pray for all he was worth. This startled the little group for an instant.

"Oh, Lord, You know my sins are as high as a mountain; yes, as high as Shasta. O God, be merciful. Could You wash so many away? You know I am guilty of every crime except murder, but Lord God, I am tired; I want to quit, but I can't." Then the chorus that the little maid was singing seemed to pierce the seeker's consciousness and he began to cry out harder than ever, "Oh, God, do blot them out; oh, if only You would!"

"Talk to him, Father; pray with him. I'm not afraid to sing alone," said Maxine.

Two blue-clad uniformed figures had also joined the group listening to the penitent's prayers. Both were nervously fingering the leather holsters at their sides.

"Ed De Lacy, as I live and breathe," whispered one.

"The same," answered the other. "Did you ever?"

"Believe he really means business. What'll we do?"

"Wa-al, I never did interrupt a man at his prayers."

"And it's Christmas Eve, too."

"Sing, 'There is a Fountain Filled With Blood,' dearie," said the minister.

"O Lord, plunge me in! Plunge me in!" and the praying one began another long string of confessions

Maxine now sang:

The dying thief rejoiced to see

That fountain in his day;

And there may I, though vile as he,

Wash all my sins away.

"Say, Mister, is that really true? Does it say that in your Bible, too?"

The minister turned and read, "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief."

''Well, that surely means me," and soon there was a glorious scene that caused the two policemen to withdraw a short distance.

''You take him, I can't," said one.

"Why me? Let's let him go. If he's got the real thing--and I believe he has--he will come in without our aid. You can take him if you want the reward."

"This is Christmas Eve, and it is no time to be thinking of what a man can get," was the answer.

So Ed De Lacy went on his way rejoicing, for his sins were forgiven.

"What do you think the chief will say to us?" asked one of them on the way to headquarters.

"He might tell us that we are the most chicken men on the whole force."

"He has a soft spot in his own heart, and I heard him say when those Mission folks got a permit to hold their street meetings that they help the cause of law and order in that section of town in a real way."

Sure enough, the next morning Edward De Lacy came into police headquarters very much alive and of his own accord. He started to tell them what had happened to him.

''We know all about it," he was told, "and we will give you six months probation to let you demonstrate how real it is." The chief's eye twinkled a "Merry Christmas."

"There," said Ed De Lacy to Satan's temptation that he was a fool to give up his freedom, "you see you were all wrong."

"Guess I will try to hunt up the family and see if they won't accept their new husband and father."

Six months later, a very much changed Ed De Lacy again downed Satan's temptation that he was a fool to report and lose his freedom.

''Well, here I am, and by God's help I haven't touched a drop or broken the law once, and I am working as well as living in love and harmony with my family. I tell you, fellows, it is a wonderful salvation."

"There's your record," said the chief, pointing to the board. ''Would you like to erase it?"

Tears were in Ed's eyes when he had wiped it all out.

"Chief, I thank you, but that would never have been possible had not the Savior blotted it all out last Christmas Eve, with His own blood."

And if little Maxine had not left her warm, comfortable home on Christmas Eve to help her father in the street meeting, would Ed De Lacy have found the Savior who changed his life completely and brought him back home to his precious little girl? Thanks be to God for Maxine's willing obedience to her parents and her loving Heavenly Father. Her reward will be great in Heaven.

[Taken from The Old Country Church Bulletin, Sarcoxie, Mo. Used by permission.]

Seemingly No Hope for this Lad, but God

The least promising lad in a lady's class was a raggedly dressed boy named Bob. The superintendent secured a new suit of clothes for him. After three Sundays, Bob was missing. The teacher visited him to discover that his new clothes were torn and dirty. The superintendent gave him a second new suit. He returned to Sunday School. After attending twice, his place was empty again. Once more, the teacher learned that the second suit had gone the way of the first. Utterly discouraged, she told the superintendent she must give him up. "Please don't do that," urged the superintendent, "I'll give him a third suit if he'll promise to attend regularly." Bob did promise. He did attend regularly. He became an earnest Christian, joined the church, became a teacher, and studied for the ministry. He became the Dr. Robert Morrison, honored missionary to China, who translated the Bible into the Chinese language and opened the gate to teeming millions in that country.

[From my book, Remarkable Incidents and Answers to Prayer.]

Barry's Promise

By Donna McCain Wilson

"Good morning, Mom," Barry said, as he entered the kitchen where his mother was busily preparing breakfast.

"Good morning, Barry. You're up mighty early this morning." She smiled as she looked at him. "Today's the day, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am! And am I going to have fun!"

Barry's Uncle David had promised him weeks ago that someday they would take a fishing trip. Today was the day they had decided upon for their trip. Barry's dad had died when he was just a little boy, and he didn't get to go fishing very often. Many times, he had wished he could be like other boys who went hunting, fishing, and camping almost every weekend. But now, at last he was going to get to go, and he was very excited about it.

"Barry, after you finish breakfast, I have a little errand I'd like you to do for me. After that you may be free to do as you like," his mother said.

"Sure, Mom, what is it?"

"I'd like you to go over to Mrs. Greene's for a potted plant that she has for me. She called this morning and said you could get it when you come over. I didn't know you were planning on going over there today."

"I wasn't. What could she have meant?" Barry looked puzzled. ''Well, I'll go, Mom, but I sure hope she doesn't get to talking like she usually does. I don't want to be late for Uncle David."

"Now, remember, Barry, we must be very kind to Mrs. Greene. We want to win her for Jesus."

"She sure needs something!" Barry replied as he darted out the door.

It was a lovely day, and Barry was a happy little boy as he walked along whistling a tune, His happiness seemed to be catching; people who met him on the street smiled and went on, thinking what a lovely day it was.

Soon he was knocking on Mrs. Greene's door.

"Come in, Barry, I'm glad you came. I've got the paint all mixed and ready. You may start right away."

''What... .... .? I ... ugh," Barry stammered.

"You haven't forgotten, have you, Barry?" You promised to paint the back porch for me today. You do remember, don't you?"

Yes, Barry remembered! He had promised Mrs. Greene a few weeks ago that he would paint her porch today. He must have forgotten all about his fishing trip at the time.

He stood a moment, not knowing what to do. ''Yes, I remember," he said finally.

"Well, come right in and let's get started. How's your mother, Barry? I've been meaning to get over and see her, but with all I have to do, I just can't seem to make it."

Mrs. Greene rattled on, but Barry hardly heard her. His mind was in a whirl. Why hadn't he thought about this being the day of the fishing trip when he had promised Mrs. Greene he'd paint her porch? What could he do? He didn't want to paint her old porch when it was such a lovely day to go fishing. Maybe he could say he was sick or something. Say, that was an idea ....

"Uh, Mrs. Greene."

''What's the matter, Barry? You look like you don't feel well."

''Well, I don't ... I mean I do. I mean\--Mrs. Greene, may I use your phone? I forgot to tell my mom something."

"Sure, Barry. It's in the hall."

Barry dialed the number reluctantly. "Hey, Mom. Tell Uncle David I won't be able to go fishing today. I'd forgotten I'd promised to paint Mrs. Greene's porch today."

There was a pause. Then, "Oh, Barry, that's too bad."

"I know, Mom. I hate it but if I promised, I promised. And you know we want to win Mrs. Greene for Jesus."

"I'm proud of you, Barry. God will honor you for keeping your promise."

Barry blinked his eyes rapidly to keep back the tears as he walked out to begin painting the porch. Sometimes keeping promises is hard, he thought.

Painting furiously, Barry did not even hear his uncle arrive until he spoke behind him.

"I figured you could use a hand," Uncle David said. "We can't keep those fish waiting too long." Together, they finished the porch, then they went fishing.

Mrs. Greene was delighted with her newly-painted porch\--and loved the fish that Barry and Uncle David later brought her. But mostly she was touched by the little boy who kept his promises.

Willie's Sacrifice

Taken from the Analytical Third Reader, 1867

"Oh, Mamma," exclaimed Willie, as he ran eagerly into the room on his return from school, "We are to have a vacation all next week; and may I go with Dennis on Monday, when he goes to get those vegetables Papa has bought of Mr. Morton?"

"If it is a pleasant day, I know nothing to prevent your going; that is, if Dennis is willing to take charge of you."

"Oh, I know he will, Mamma, and only think! It is six miles there. What a splendid long ride I shall have!"

The next day, as Willie walked to church with his parents, he thought of the pleasure in store for the morrow; but in the Sabbath school, he was very much interested in the school.

When he reached home, he said, "Mamma, the minister talked to us about self-denial. He said the more we denied ourselves for the good of others, the happier we should feel; now is that really true?"

"It is, Willie. The Bible says, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive,' and if we deny ourselves in order to do good to others we shall find it true. "

"I am glad, Willie, to find you have been thinking of this matter. If you wish to prove the truth of the master's words, do some self-denying act the first opportunity you have, and see if you feel happier for it."

The next morning was bright and cloudless, and Willie was in high spirits all the forenoon. He scarcely knew how to employ his time until the happy hour should arrive for him to take his ride. He got tired of staying in the sitting-room, and so he thought he would pay a visit to Mrs. Maloney, who was washing in the kitchen.

"Oh, Master Willie," she cried, "how nice you're looking this morning, and what a fine color ye have in your cheeks. Here's poor Johnny as pale as this sheet I'm washing, ever since the fever left him.

"The doctor says he ought to take a ride now and then, and go out in the country a bit, but the like of me, that has to wash for a living, can't do that at all."

A sudden thought startled Willie, and, scarce stopping to make an answer, he rushed out into the yard. Back and forth he paced with slow step, and a very anxious, perplexed look upon his face.

All at once he came to a dead halt, and planting his foot firmly upon the bricks, he exclaimed, "I'll do it!" and then ran into the house.

"Mamma," he said, "Johnny Maloney is downstairs, and he looks so pale and thin; I think the ride into the country this afternoon will do him more good than it will me; and as there is room for only one, I will let him go in my stead, if you are willing."

"Most certainly I am, Willie," she said, and clasping the little fellow to her heart, she gave him a kiss of approval. He flew to tell Mrs. Maloney of his decision, and resolutely stood by while Johnny was lifted to the high seat beside Dennis.

He watched them till they rode out of sight, with a face on which smiles and tears were striving for possession; but the smiles gained it, and he went cheerfully on an errand for his mamma, which she had kindly postponed on account of the ride.

After Willie's mamma had put him to bed that night, she sat down beside him, and putting her hand fondly upon his little curly head, she said, ''You have made me very happy, dear Willie, today, by so soon putting in practice the resolution you made yesterday.

"It was a great act of self-denial for you to give up the ride; and now, how is it? Do you feel happier, or not, for staying at home so as to let Johnny go?"

"Happier than if I had taken the best ride in the world, Mamma. And you say it made you happy, too, and I know Mrs. Maloney and Johnny were happy; and so only think how much happiness it caused. I am sure I do not mean to be selfish again as long as I live."

My Mother

By Jane Taylor

Who fed me from her gentle breast

And hushed me in her arms to rest,

And on my cheeks sweet kisses pressed?

My Mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,

Who was it sang sweet hushaby

And rocked me that I should not cry?

My Mother.

Who sat and watched my infant head

When sleeping in my cradle bed,

And tears of sweet affection shed?

My Mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,

Who gazed upon my heavy eye

And wept, for fear that I should die?

My Mother.

Who dressed my dolls in clothes so gay

And Taught me pretty how to play,

And minded all I had to say?

My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,

And would some pretty story tell,

Or kiss some place to make it well?

MyMother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,

And love God's Holy Book and day,

And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?

My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be

Affectionate and kind to thee

Who wast so very kind to me,

My Mother.

Ah! No, the thought I cannot bear,

And if God please my life to spare,

I hope I shall reward thy care,

My Mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and gray,

My healthy arm shall be thy stay,

And I will soothe thy pains away,

My Mother.

And when I see thee hang thy head,

'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,

And tears of sweet affection shed,

My Mother.

Little Minnie's Guilty Conscience

Little Minnie sat up in bed. The shade was drawn up, and she saw the moon looking down upon her.

''You needn't look at me, moon," she said. ''You don't know anything about it. You cannot see in the daytime. Besides, I am going to sleep now."

She lay down and tried to go to sleep, but her clock on the mantel went "tick-rock, tick-took." She generally liked to hear it, but tonight, it sounded as if it said, "I know, I know, I know."

"No, you don't either," said Minnie, opening her eyes wide. ''You weren't there\--You were upstairs."

Her loud talking awoke the parrot. He took his head from under his wing and cried out, "Polly did."

"That's a wicked story, you naughty bird," said the little girl. ''You were in grandma's room, so now!"

Then she tried to go to sleep again. She lay down and counted sheep just as Grandma said she did when she couldn't sleep. But there was a big lump in her throat. "Oh, I wish I hadn't done it," she said to herself.

Pretty soon, there came a very soft patter of four little feet, and her kitty jumped up on the bed, kissed Minnie's cheek, and then began to "purrrrrrr, purrrrrrrr." It was odd; but that, too, sounded as if kitty said, "I know, I know."

''Yes, you do know, kitty," said Minnie. And she threw her arms around kitty's neck and cried bitterly. "I want to see\--my mamma," she cried as she went downstairs.

Her mother opened her arms when she saw the little weeping girl coming. And then Minnie told her mother the miserable story.

"It was awfully naughty, Mamma," she said, "but I did want the custard so much. I ate up 'most a whole pie. And then\--I don't want to tell\--I shut up kitty in the pantry to make you think that she did it. But I'm very sorry, Mamma."

Then Mother told Minnie that she knew all about it. But she had hoped that her little daughter would be brave enough to tell all about it herself.

"But, Mamma," Minnie asked, "How did you know it wasn't kitty?"

"Because kitty would never have had a spoon in the pie," replied Mother, smiling.

''Will Jesus forgive me for being so naughty?" asked the little girl.

"Yes," said her mother, "let us ask Him right now." Then Minnie was happy and could go to sleep.

The Children's Cookbook

The following may be off the main theme of this book, but I feel like including it. I trust you will enjoy it as much as I have. The Bible tells us in Proverbs 17:22 that "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine."

When my niece, Robi Miller, was in kindergarten or first grade, her teacher instructed her and her classmates to observe their mother as she cooked over the Christmas holidays, and when they returned to school, to give her a recipe which their mother had used, and the class would make a cookbook to give to their mothers on Mother's Day. Upon returning to school, she called the children one by one to her desk, and here are some of the recipes they gave. Try them and let me know how you came out!

Hamburger

1 hamburger

2 macaroni

3 French fries

15 oils

Cook it all on top of the stove for 15 minutes.

-Nina Hafford

Chicken

7 chickens

1 egg

Cook for 16 minutes in the oven at 6 degrees.

-Paul McWilliams

Blackberry Dumplings

A whole bunch of blackberries

1 spoonful flour

7 # sugar

1 cup water

Put it in a big pot and cook it for half a day. Eat some and give some away.

-Craig Bergeron

Chocalate Pie

A little bit of flour

1 cup milk

3 chocolates

5 Broccoli

Some more flour

3 eggs

1 tsp. Salt

4 tsp. Sugar

6 drops whipped cream

Put it all in a pan. Put it in the oven at 200 degrees for 10 hours.

-Robin McMichael

Chocolate Cake

1 cup cake mix

1 egg

1 can icing

1 tsp. Water

1 spoonful butter

1 cup full pecans

Put it in a bowl and mix with a beater for 10 hours. Put it in a pan in the oven for 10 minutes at 3 degrees. Take it out the pan and put the icing on it. Then you put your pecans.

-Kelly Simmons

Beans and Rice

10 quarts sausage

1/2 gallon salt

11 gallons beans

Put it all in the pan at one time and cook it on top of the stove for ten hours.

-Rodney Buras

Fried Fish

10 fish

4 dozen flours

2 eggs

1 gallon grease

2 gallon salt

Mix it all together and cook it on top of the stove for 10 hours.

-Dean Davies

Eggs

1 egg

Crack the egg over the pot and cook for 30 minutes.

-Deron Scarabin

Fried Oysters

14 oysters

1 package spaghetti

1 onion

6 chickens

2 cans macaroni

Put it all in the pot on the stove and cook 'till 9 o'clock.

-Amy Williams

Meat Balls and Pesketti

1 # plain meat

1 cup gravy

About 1 pkg. pesketties

Same thing of pepper

1 pkg. Tomatoes

1 cup salt

Put the tomatoes, salt and pepper into a pot, and the meat. Put the sketties in with it. Cook about 1 hour on top of the stove.

-Robi Miller

Tea

2 tea bags

2 spoons sugar

A lot of water

A lot of milk

Cook some water in a pot, put in the tea bags for 3 hours. Put the tea bags in the garbage. Give the tea to me and my little brother. I put in my own milk and sugar.

-Rhonda Eymard

Fried Chicken

3 chickens

1 lil' pot full of white stuff

little dozen of pepper

1 lil' cupfull grease

Cut the legs off and everything, put in the white stuff, and then put it in a pan of grease--cook for 15 minutes on top of the stove.

-Leslie Deakle

Stew

10 # meat

10 # potatoes

1 # rice and 1 # sliced carrots

1 spoon salt

1 cupfull pepper

1 cup gravy

Put it all in a big pot on top of the stove and cook for 2 minutes.

-Clifford Stumpp

A Knock at the Door

The following true incident is recorded to encourage the young, as well as the older ones, to never give up in trying to win the lost.

In a Western town, there lived an old gentleman and his granddaughter, a child of thirteen, whom we shall call Mary. Both were Christians and tried, as opportunity was given, to bring others to Christ.

Every Sunday afternoon, these two, the gray-haired man and the young girl, went forth with tracts and books to visit homes and help spread the gospel. They would go from door to door, knocking at each, and with a smile and a loving word would leave some Gospel literature. Though they received very little encouragement in their labor for Christ, yet they worked on, sowing "beside all waters," and looked to God to give "the increase."

In one of the homes they visited, lived an old lady, on whom had been told ugly rumors. Her face and behavior told of a life of hardship and wrong. She never refused the offered booklet, but never thanked them. She always closed the door as fast as possible.

One Sunday afternoon, it was so cold and wet that the grandfather told his granddaughter, "Really, dear, it is so stormy today, and I have such a bad cold, that I do not feel it safe for us to venture out."

The granddaughter begged to be allowed to go alone. Though her grandfather was very reluctant, he finally agreed. Off the little girl went, her feet protected by a pair of galoshes, with a nice raincoat on and carrying an umbrella.

She was only able, however, to call on a few houses, the last one being that of the lonely old lady. Knocking, she waited for an answer, but no one came to the door. Thinking that the lady might be asleep, she knocked again. Still no answer.

"She can't be out on a day like this," thought Mary. "What's the matter? I'll just knock once more." So she knocked the third time, louder still.

Presently, she heard someone coming down the stairs. The door was opened, and the old lady, disheveled dress and hair, stared wildly at the child for a moment, took the book, and slammed the door in her face.

The next Sunday afternoon, the weather was perfect--bright, clear, frosty. Forth went the two soul winners. Soon, they came to the home of the strange old lady. Ah! No need to knock this time. The door flew open as soon as they stopped. She had been waiting for them. And what a change they saw! No longer was she unkempt, but clean and tidy. She had a look of peace and joy lighting up her face, which they had never seen before.

"Come in, come in," she cried. "Come in, good sir, and you, my pretty lassie. Oh! I have a good tale to tell you. But before telling the good, she related how her life had been wasted as she lived in sin and wretchedness.

"But," said she, as she let out a sob, "last Sunday afternoon the climax came; for as I brooded over the wrongs I had done and received, I was so distracted that I decided to kill myself. Up to the attic I went and, mounting a high stool, I tied a rope over a rafter and put the noose around my neck, determined to hang myself. But, as I was about to kick away the stool and let myself swing into the air, I heard a knock at my door. It stopped me and I paused and listened.

"Presently, it came again, and I said to myself, 'Who can it be? Surely not that old gentleman and his child on a day like this.' Then it flashed upon me that perhaps it was God knocking at the door that He might hinder me from killing myself. So I said, 'O God, if that knock comes again, I'll go down.' "

"Sure enough, it did come; and undoing the rope, I got off the stool, went down and opened the door. And there stood this dear child. I snatched the book she timidly offered me, closed the door, took my glasses, and read the title--'Where will you spend eternity?' Like a message from God it shot through my soul. And down on my knees in terror, I dropped. And oh, sir, after seeing my sins like a mountain of judgment, I was able to believe God and trust in the Savior. And now I am happy, happy, so happy; for I know Jesus died for me, and I am forgiven of my sins."

In many words, with great pause and a broken sentence now and then, the happy old lady sobbed out what great things the Lord had done for her. Together they knelt, the repentant and rejoicing lady, the old man and the young girl. And loving prayer and praise went up to God who desireth not the death of a sinner, but that all should come to repentance.

A Gypsy Story

By Anna Talbott McPherson

Rodney lived with his father, brother, and two sisters in a wagon home pulled by big horses. As they traveled from place to place, they carried all they needed with them. All of their clothes, toys, food, and things to work with were kept in the wagon so that whenever his father wanted to move to a new place, all they had to do was hitch the horses to the wagon and be on their way.

Often, they would camp with other gypsies. Each family would pull their wagon near the others' to form part of a circle. Then, when night came, they would build a fire and the older men would tell the children stories while the mothers cooked supper in large black pots over the fires.

Many times after supper, they would get out their guitars and everyone would sing and tell stories of their travels and laugh till time to go to bed. It was a lot of fun.

But it was hard for Rodney to be good, especially when his father was poor. Sometimes his hungry stomach would lead him to climb up the neighbor's plum trees where he ate until he could eat no more. Then he would fill his pockets with plums to eat later.

The circus was a big temptation, too. All the bright lights, and the music and animals and clowns were attractive to Rodney. But he didn't have any money, so he would slip under the tent instead of paying for a ticket. Just before Rodney's mother had died, she sang a song.

I have a Father in the Promised Land.

My Father calls me; I must go

To meet Him in the Promised Land.

She had asked Rodney's father to be good to the children.

After the funeral, Father was very sad and prayed that God would forgive his sins. But there was no one to show him how to be saved.

Then one day while they were camped in Epping Forest, Rodney's father went to a gospel meeting. When he came home, his face was all lit up with happiness. He put his arms around his motherless children and prayed that each one might be saved. Rodney never forgot that night.

One evening Rodney sat down on a fallen tree not far from his father's tent and wagon. The· grass around had grown almost as tall as Rodney himself. He thought about his mother in Heaven. He thought about the great change that had come into their home since his father had been saved.

Everything was still. He could almost hear the beating of his own heart. Suddenly he came to a decision, "I will be a Christian and meet my mother in Heaven!"

A few days later he wandered into a little chapel. At the close of the service, those who wanted to be saved were invited to come to the front of the church. Rodney was the first to kneel at the communion rail.

The congregation sang:

I do believe, I will believe,

That Jesus died for me,

That on the cross He shed His blood,

From sin to set me free.

An old man knelt beside the small boy. He put his arms around him and prayed. Then he quoted a verse from the Bible, "But as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name." (Iohn 1:12)

Rodney thought of all the bad things he had done and he sobbed, "I know I can't trust myself. .. so I'll trust in Jesus!"

It was just as simple as that. Suddenly, Rodney knew Jesus had forgiven him and had given him eternal life.

He went home and told his father what had happened. He was so happy he cried. Since Rodney's brother and two sisters had already become Christians, the entire family would now meet Mother in Heaven.

But that is not all. When Rodney grew up, he became one of the greatest soul winners of his time and became known as "Gypsy Smith." He traveled all the way around the world telling great crowds of people how to find Jesus as their Savior. But he never forgot how boys and girls need Jesus, too, for once he was a poor, lonely little Gypsy boy who needed someone to help him find Jesus.

[From a tract by F.E.A. Ministry, PO Box 1065, Hobe Sound, Fla. 33455. Adapted from Praying Parents Take Heart.]

The Beggar Boy

A New York merchant who was a Sunday School teacher was called upon for a speech at a great Sunday School meeting out in the West. So he got up and said,

"Instead of a speech, I will tell you a true story of a beggar boy. I started out one fine Sunday morning, in the city of New York, to get up some recruits for my Sunday School class. At the corner of a street I met a barefooted boy, without hat or coat. His hair was fiery red, and looked as if it had never been combed. I asked the boy if he would come with me to Sunday School.

"No, sir," was his sharp reply.

''You ought to go Sunday School," I said kindly.

''What for?" he asked.

''We teach boys to be good."

"I don't want to be good."

''Why do you not want to be good?" I asked earnestly.

"Because I am hungry," was his quick reply.

"It is now nine o'clock," I said, looking at my watch. "Haven't you had any breakfast yet?"

"No, sir."

"Where do you live?"

"Up the alley there with aunty; she's sick."

"Will you eat some gingerbread and crackers, if I get some?"

''Yes, sir, that I will and be glad to get 'em."

I got a lot and set them before him. He ate them in a way which showed how keenly hungry he was. I asked him if he would like some more.

''A little more, if you please, sir," said the boy.

I got a fresh supply and set them before him. I waited till he was done eating, then I said, "My boy, will you go with me to school, now?"

''You have been so kind to me, sir," said he, "I'll go anywhere with you. Please wait 'till I take what's left of the gingerbread round to aunty, and then I'll go with you."

He returned directly to the sidewalk where I was waiting for him, and went with me to Sunday School. He had never been to school before. He thought of school as a place where boys had to hold out their hands to be slapped with a ruler, and have their hair pulled and their ears pinched. But when he found himself in the hands of a pleasant young lady, who treated him kindly and said nothing about his shabby clothes, he was greatly surprised. He became a regular attendant. He told all the boys of his acquaintance about the school and persuaded many of them to attend.

About two years after this, a lot of boys from New York were sent out West and distributed among the farmers. My red-haired boy was sent among them. I used to hear of him for a while, that he was getting on and doing well. I have lost sight of him for years now, but I have no doubt he is doing well wherever he is.

In a moment, a tall, good-looking gentleman with red hair stood up in the meeting, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am the red-haired beggar boy of New York, who ate that gentleman's gingerbread. I have lived in the West for years, and have prospered. I am now a rich man. I own five hundred acres of as good land as the sun shines on. My horses and carriage are at the door, and when the meeting is over, I shall be happy to take my old friend to my home, where he is welcome to stay as long as he pleases. I am a member of a church, and the superintendent of a Sunday School; and I owe all I have in this world, and all that I hope for in the next, to what was taught me about Jesus, in the New York Sunday School."

"They that turn many to righteousness shaff shine as the stars forever and ever."

"Cast thy bread upon the waters;for thou shaft find It qfter many days."

[From a tract by Old Paths Tract Society, Shoals, Ind. Used by permission.]

The Missing Bicycle

By Melodie L. Satterfield

On his way through the kitchen, eight-year-old Ricky grabbed a handful of his favorite cookies. Ricky's parents had gone visiting for the afternoon. But before leaving, they had given their tow-headed son permission to go to the little park at the end of their street to play a game of ball with his friends.

"I'm leaving now," Ricky yelled to his older sister as he shoved the screen door open and let it slam shut with a bang. He was anxious to get to the park before the game started; maybe if he hurried, he would get picked to be the pitcher.

Entering the garage to get his old bike, Ricky's eyes fell on something that caused him to stare with excitement. Hanging on the hooks just out of reach was his "new" bike. A cousin had given it to him just a few weeks before. It was such a special bike--shiny and red, with skinny wheels--and a gearshift! But he remembered with disappointment that his father had told him he would have to wait until next summer to ride it since it was much too big for him.

'''Mom and Dad are gone and they will never know if I just ride it to the park!" he thought. With a little help from some old paint cans, he was able to climb up and lift the bicycle down. "Neat-o!" he whistled quietly. "This is going to be fun!"

Since the new bike really was too big for the young boy, Ricky had to ride it standing up, leaning from side to side to reach the pedals. Ricky carefully parked the bike behind a clump of bushes, out of the way of the ball game, and out of sight of anyone who might drive by.

The sunny afternoon passed quickly as they played. Ricky's team was winning and he had helped score a few of the runs. He was having such fun--batting, running, pitching, and catching\--that he forgot all about getting home in time for supper.

Standing near first base, Ricky felt someone tap him on the shoulder. "Time for supper, son," his father said. The ball game broke up as Ricky yelled good-bye to his friends and started home with his father.

Ricky remembered his bicycle, but he made a quick decision to leave it behind. He would sneak back after supper and get it by himself. He didn't want to try to explain why he had disobeyed and taken the bike without permission. If he did that, Dad might think Ricky needed to spend the evening pulling weeds in the tomato patch\--he had such terrible ways to punish disobedient boys!

So Ricky said nothing about the bike. As they hurried home, he chattered nervously about other things. "Daddy, did you have a good time visiting today? Did you find anyone new to come to Sunday School? I had a great game today\--I hit a home run and two doubles, and got to pitch for two innings. I wonder what Mom fixed for supper tonight. Are you hungry, Daddy? I'm starved after playing so hard! I'm so glad it's not my turn to do dishes! Will you play catch with me this evening? Isn't that a funny looking cloud?" On and on he babbled, hardly giving his father a chance to answer. And the more his conscience bothered him for his disobedience, the faster he talked.

Just as they reached the back porch, Ricky'S father turned to him and said, "Oh, son, you had better run back; you forgot your bike!"

Ricky tried to look puzzled. "Bike? What bike?"

"The one your cousin gave you a few weeks ago. You had better go bring it home."

"Oh, you said I couldn't ride it until next summer, so it is still hanging in the garage," Ricky lied in a weak voice.

"We'd better go see, son,", Dad said sadly. They turned back to the garage, where Ricky pretended to be surprised that the bike was gone. Then Dad spoke quietly, "Maybe, we should go look down at the park."

The walk to the park, and the walk back, pushing the bicycle, seemed twice as long this time. Ricky was quiet. He really was sorry--sorry he had disappointed his dad.

That evening, Ricky spent a lot of time alone in the garden, pulling weeds and thinking. Later, in his room, Ricky finally admitted to his father that he had taken the bicycle. Then they prayed together to ask Jesus for forgiveness. It was with a happy heart and a clear conscience that Ricky was able to go to sleep that night to dream of riding a shiny, red bicycle just his size!

[This story, based on true facts, was published in "The Allegheny Wesleyan Methodist." Used by permission.]

A Fellow Needs a Mom

By R. W. Cooper

A fellow needs a mom

Who keeps a cookie jar,

'N shelves of jams and jellies,

Who's not askeered yuh'll mar

The floors 'n walls 'n furniture

Ever' time yuh come inside;

Yet th' kinda mom who makes yuh

In your home to take some pride.

That kinda mom's a comfort,

Makes yuh feel it's yur home too-

Ain't allus 'yellin', mopstick shakin'

Like there ain't no room fer you.

A fellow needs a mom,

Who'll fix his battered toe,

Er tend his burns 'n bruises

'N take care of every woe.

Guess there just ain't any comfort

Like her tender lovin' eyes

When a fellow gets to hurtin'

'Til he most busts out 'n cries.

Guess a fellow lives in clover

When he has a mom like that,

Who when all the hurtin's over

Sends him off with lovin' spat.

A fellow needs a mom,

Who lives so close to Him

Who ain't grouchin' at the neighbors,

Er makin' screamin', screechin 'din.

Who kin kneel with tears aflowin'

'N lift her hands 'n pray

Till the big black clouds of trouble

By His hands been wiped away.

That s the kinda mom a fellow

Can't fergit when he s a man;

Whose sweet memory will linger,

Alterin ' many an errant plan.

Does This Railroad Lead to Heaven?

By Rev. F. M. Dosh

One evening, we were traveling west on a train. At a station, a little girl about eight years of age, came aboard, carrying a little budget under her arm. She came into the car and deliberately took a seat. She then commenced an eager scrutiny of faces, but all were strange to her. She appeared weary, and placing her budget for a pillow, she prepared to try and secure a little sleep. Soon, the conductor came along collecting tickets and fare. Observing him, she asked him if she might lie there. The gentlemanly conductor replied that she might, and then kindly asked for her ticket. She informed him that she had none, when the following conversation ensued. Said the conductor, "Where are you going?"

"I am going to Heaven," she answered.

"Who pays your fare?" he asked again.

She then said, "Mister, does this railroad lead to Heaven, and does Jesus travel on it?"

"I think not," he answered, "why do you think so?"

''Well, sir, before my ma died she used to sing to me of a heavenly railroad, and you looked so nice and kind that 1 thought this was the road. My ma use to sing of Jesus on the heavenly railroad, and that He paid the fare for everybody, and that the train stopped at every station to take people on board; but my ma don't sing to me anymore. Nobody sings to me now; and I thought I'd take the cars and go to ma. Mister, do you sing to your little girl about the railroad that goes to Heaven? You have a little girl, haven't you?"

He replied weeping: "No, my little dear, I have no little girl now. I had one once, but she died some time ago and went to Heaven."

"Did she go over this railroad, and are you going to see her now?" she asked.

By this time, every person in the coach was upon their feet, and most of them were weeping. An attempt to describe what I witnessed is most futile. Some said, "God bless the little girl." Hearing some person say she was an angel, the little girl earnestly replied, ''Yes, my ma used to say that I would be an angel sometime."

Addressing herself once more to the conductor, she asked him, "Do you love Jesus? I do; and if you love Him, He will let you ride to Heaven on His railroad. I am going there, and I wish you would go with me. I know Jesus will let me into Heaven when I get there, and He will let you in, too, and everybody that will ride on His railroad\--yes, all these people. Wouldn't you like to see Heaven, and Jesus, and your little girl?"

These words, so pathetically and innocently uttered, brought a great gush of tears from all eyes, but most profoundly from those of the conductor. Some who were traveling on the heavenly railroad shouted aloud for joy.

She now asked the conductor, "Mister, may I lie here until we get to Heaven?"

"Yes, dear, yes," he answered.

"Will you wake me up then, so that I may see my ma, and your little girl, and Jesus?" she asked, "For I do so much want to see them all."

The answer came in broken accents, but the words very tenderly spoken: ''Yes, dear angel, yes. God bless you."

''Amen!'' was sobbed by more than a score of voices.

Turning her eyes again upon the conductor, she interrogated him again. ''What shall I tell your little girl when I see her? Shall I tell her that I saw her upon Jesus' railroad? Shall I?"

This brought a fresh flood of tears from all present, and the conductor knelt by her side, and embracing her, wept the reply he could not utter. At this juncture the brakeman called out, "H\--s." At this point, I was obliged to leave the train.

We learn from this incident that out of the mouths of even babes, God hath ordained strength, and that we ought to be willing to represent the cause of our Blessed Jesus even in a railroad coach.

Sometime later the writer of this story received a letter from the railroad conductor:

Rev. Dosh: I wish to relieve my heart by writing to you, and saying that that angel visit on the cars was a blessing to me, although I did not realize it in its fullness until some hours later. But blessed be the Redeemer, I know now that I am His, and He is mine. I no longer wonder why Christians are happy. Oh my joy, my joy! The instrument of my salvation has gone to God. I had purposed adopting her in the place of my little daughter, who is now in Heaven. With this intention, I took her to C--b, and on my return trip I took her back to S—n, where she left the cars. In consultation with my wife in regard to adopting her, she replied, "Yes, certainly, and immediately, too, for there is a Divine providence in this. Ob," said she, "I never could refuse to take under my charge the instrument of my husband's salvation. "

I made inquiry for the child at S--n, and learned that in three days after her return, she died suddenly without any apparent disease, and her happy soul had gone to dwell with her ma, my little girl, and the angels in Heaven. I was sorry to hear of her death, but my sorrow is turned to joy when I think my angel-daughter received intelligence from earth concerning her pal and that he is on the heavenly railway. Oh! Sir, methinks I see her near the Redeemer. I think I hear her sing, "1'm safe at home, and Pa and Ma are coming," I find myse!f sending back the reply, ''Yes, my darling, we are coming, and will soon be there." Ob, my dear sir, I am glad that I ever formed your acquaintance; may the blessing of the great God rest upon you. Please write to me, and be assured, I would be most happy to meet you again.

Robb French, Saved at Age Four

In the years when Robb French and his brothers and sister were growing up, their home life revolved around the family altar. Their mother was determined that family prayers would not be dry. ''We're going to have holy fire burning on this family altar," she stated.

And they did. If things were dull and dry at first, they waited until the glory came. Mother knew that if they had the glory, prayer time would not be a grind, but a joy.

Even the very smallest children learned respect for the family altar. Once when Aunt Jennie was visiting, little two-year-old George was toddling around playing during family prayer. When it was finished, Aunt Jennie turned to Mother French with wisdom that surely came from God and helped Mother French to see how important it was to teach reverence to the very smallest. Mother French never forgot that admonition, and from then on, even the babies were trained to be quiet while the family prayed.

It was at the family altar that little Robb, four years of age, was saved. Mother sat the chairs around in a circle as she always did, and then she said, "Children, talk to Jesus now just like you talk to Mother."

Robb had a burden on his little boy heart that morning—a burden that he did not know what to do with, but as young as he was, he could understand those words, "Talk to Jesus just like you talk to Mother."

Kneeling at an old-fashioned, solid-bottomed chair, sobbing as though his heart would break, he told Jesus all about his troubles and his heavy heart. When he got up from his knees, there was a puddle of tears on the chairs, but Robb was happier than he had ever been before. He went out on the back steps and sat in the glow of the waning sun all by himself. Everything looked so changed and beautiful that he thought he was in a new world. The trees had a different loveliness, the birds sang in a different note. Jesus had come into his heart.

Mother's prayers did much to apply the fuel for the fire on the family altar. They formed a bulwark around her children and her little home. The children found their way piled up so high with prayers and fastings that it seemed they were helpless to climb over them to get to Hell.

In later years, Robb remarked, "Moses' mother said Moses was a proper child. That's a mother for you. He may be as freckled as a turkey, knock-kneed, or half-witted, but he is a proper child. The mother of Moses hid him. Where can we hide our children? About the best place I know is behind the family altar. That's where Mother hid us--in the secret place of prayer."

What Matters

My mother says she doth not care

About the color of my hair,

Nor if my eyes are blue or brown,

Nor if my nose turns up or down--

It really doesn't matter.

And Mother says she does not care

If I am dark or if I'm fair,

Or if I'm thin or if I'm fat;

She doesn't fret o'er things like that\--

It really doesn't matter.

But if I cheat or tell a lie,

Or say mean things to make folks cry,

Or if I'm rude or impolite,

And do not try to do the right-

Then that does really matter.

Little Nimrod

By Ina Joy

Little Nimrod, with his black shiny skin, large eyes, glistening white teeth, and curly black hair, lived in a low grass hut in far-off Africa. His home was built right on the ground with no other floor; there were no windows and only one door, which was so low that Nimrod, only five years old, could just walk through it without bumping his head.

When the weather was cold or rainy, his food was cooked over a fire on the floor, in the center of the hut. The smoke burned his eyes and made them smart as it was trying to find a way out through the grass roof. The inside of the hut was dark and unpleasant with nothing beautiful there.

Nimrod did not have a single toy with which to play\--not a truck, wagon, or ball; not a picture or a game. He did not even have a pet. Most boys and girls would think his life dull. Worst of all, no one loved little Nimrod. He did not remember a mother. After the others had finished eating, he could have what was left, but he was often hungry.

Little Nimrod spent most of his time outdoors. "Someday, I will be an indoda (a man)," he would often say. He thought that watching the men would make him a man more quickly. So he usually carried a bunch of sticks in one hand and in the other a single stick with a large place on the end, called a nob-carrier, for striking at anything necessary.

There was one bright spot in the life of the little African boy. Just over the top of the first hill and down the other side was the mission station. Sitting on top of the hill, he often heard music and singing coming from the huts of the "foreigners." He liked it and sometimes slipped down as near as he dared without being noticed. Sometimes he heard strange words in his own language--sweet words about Someone who had loved people and had died for them. They warmed his little heart strangely, but he could not understand. Sometimes, he felt afraid and would scurry away through the bushes; then, again, he longed to get nearer, if he only dared.

"The evil spirits will get you," old Goki, his grandmother, said, "if you go near the place." Still Nimrod thought he could stay out of their reach.

One day, a happy thought struck the boy. He meditated about it for quite a while, then decided to venture. Accordingly, next morning Nimrod went to the top of the hill earlier than usual. He went when the sun was not high in the sky--his way of measuring time. Then he hid in the bushes near the path until a group of children came by. He stepped out behind them and was soon one of the crowd. He followed them into the "foreigners" hut.

"Aouu/' he breathed. He had never seen anything so grand. The door was very high, he thought, and there were two windows on either side of the hut. It was as light as the outdoors!

"Wa ku felu [esu, Wa ngi geli mina," (Iesus died for you, Jesus died for me,) the missionary was singing as the children squatted on the ground.

Little Nimrod sat unnoticed. To the missionary, who was rather new herself, he was just one of a group of wriggling boys and girls. "They are all so young and look so alike," she said to herself, "these abantwana bezana (boys and girls.) I wonder if they understand as I try to tell them the story of Jesus!"

''When Jesus lives in our hearts," she tried to say simply, "we are no longer afraid of evil spirits, for Jesus is stronger than they are."

She prayed in her heart that the Lord would in some way make her effort count for His glory. "Now close your eyes, while I talk to the dear Savior about all of you and ask Him to take care of you until we meet here again."

Obediently, the children bowed their heads and covered their eyes with their hands, peeking through their fingers at her. A few older, mischievous ones laughed and tittered aloud, but were hushed by the others.

Little Nimrod slipped up to the side of the missionary and said shyly, "I want Jesus in my heart." The missionary, still feeling that he scarcely understood, knelt beside him and prayed for Nimrod, then gave him words to say for himself. The little African boy asked Jesus to come into his heart and make him a good boy so that he could go to Heaven. Then he believed, in simple faith, for he had never learned to doubt as so many others have learned.

Little Nimrod rose, his face shining. "Now I want to work for Him!"

The young missionary looked surprised. "Oh, you could not work, for you are too little."

Nimrod threw back his shoulders. ''Yes, I can work. I can work now for the mission!" He made himself look as tall as possible.

"But you are such a tiny little boy," smiled the missionary, nonplussed.

A senior missionary came near, an elderly man with hammer and nails, on his way to repair a broken cattle fence.

''Why yes, of course this young man can work! I'll tell you--you carry my hammer and nails!"

Nimrod took the hammer and tin pail of nails and trudged along after the missionary. "Now shall I come back tomorrow morning and work?"

The man smiled to himself. "Such a little fellow, and wanting to labor for his Master! He surely will not waken early in the morning!"

But the sun was scarcely up the next morning when little Nimrod presented himself at the mission and stood waiting for hammer and nails. The warmth and peace in his little heart was a blessed new experience that he could not express in words, but he knew that he would always do his best for the new Friend who had met his needy, hungry heart. .

[This true incident was published in The Shining Path by Old Paths Tract Society, Inc., Shoals, Ind. 47581-9664. Used by permission.]

My Little Children Were Hungry

By Gertrude Smith

I had scraped together everything I had in the house to feed my small children. My cupboards were completely bare. The children had gone outside and played most of the morning, but it was getting close to noontime now and they were hungry, so one by one they would come in and ask for something to eat. I would try to put them off, but they kept asking for something to eat. I would say, ''We're going to eat," but of course I wasn't sure just when. Finally, I took them in the living room and took the Bible and opened it to Matthew 6:25-34, and read it to them. "Therefore I say unto you, take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than rainment? Behold the fowls of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?" V. 33 "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."

Of course, my children couldn't understand so much of what I was reading, but it was encouraging my own faith. Just as I finished reading, I heard my neighbor calling for me over the fence. I laid the Bible down and walked out to see why she had called. She was whining and started telling me how her children didn't appreciate her. I asked, ''Why do you feel that way?" She answered, "I cooked a full course meal and they barely touched it, and they won't eat it if I warm it up later. I was wondering if your family has eaten yet? Would you be interested in the food I've cooked?"

"Would I?" She brought it over and I invited her into the living room and read her the Scripture I had just read my children about God's care for us. I shared with her my predicament and told her how God had used her and her food to answer prayer for my hungry little children. She was greatly moved and wept. How great is our God! Amen!

Scars for Life

By Mrs. Angela Tucker

Cindy and Jason jumped off the bus and, as usual, started to race up the long driveway to see who could reach the house first. Today, Cindy was ahead, but she could hear the pounding of Jason's feet close behind her. Just as she was beginning to feel like the winner, she felt a tug on the back of her coat, was knocked off her feet, and Jason went racing by. In a moment, with a shout of triumph, he was in the door and had it shut and locked behind him.

"Let me in!" Cindy yelled, banging on one of the little windows in the door, "Let me in!" Jason stood on the other side of the door snickering at his sister's anger and gloating over his victory. "Let me in!" screamed Cindy. In the midst of her yelling and pounding, Cindy heard a Voice saying, "Stop now!" But in frustration, she gave one last pound to the window. To her horror, her fist crashed through the glass.

Everything was silent as Cindy and Jason stared at each other through the broken window in disbelief. The silence lasted only a moment. Jason's shouts filled the air, "It's not my fault! It's not my fault!"

At the same moment, Cindy felt a pain shoot through her wrist. Looking down she saw blood spurting from it. Cindy hollered, "I don't care whose fault it is. Open the door, I'm bleeding!" Jason immediately threw the door open and ran to the telephone to call their mother.

"Mom, please come home quick! Cindy's been hurt!"

Cindy felt sick to her tummy as she watched for her mother to come up the sidewalk. Her wrist was throbbing, and the sight of blood had made her feel a bit light-headed. She was ashamed of what she had done. Cindy glanced over at Jason. He did not look very well either.

Soon Mother arrived. Neither of the children had to say what had happened. Mother could tell as she looked at the shattered window, the two children with their downcast faces, and then at Cindy's arm which was wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth. Cindy's mother hurried to her side and carefully lifted the cloth off her wrist so she could look at the torn flesh. "Cindy," Mother said, "we need to get you to a doctor. You are going to need stitches!"

That evening, Jason and his father swept up the glass and put a piece of cardboard over the broken window. Later, as the family was sitting in the living room, Cindy and Jason told their parents all about what happened and, with tears in their eyes, apologized to each other. ''We'll pay for the window and help repair it," the children told their parents.

Mother reached over and took Cindy's hand. "Cindy," she said, "I believe there is a lesson in this, not only for you to learn, but for all of us. Do you realize that this is a deep cut, and that you will have a scar for life?"

"Do you mean that even when I grow up and leave home that I will still have the scar?" Cindy asked in surprise.

''Yes,'' answered Mother. "Every time you see the scar, it will remind you of what anger in your heart can do." Everyone sat in silence as they thought about what Mother had said.

''A scar for the rest of my life," Cindy said quietly, "and there is nothing I can do about it."

''Well, if you had listened to the still, small Voice, this probably would not have happened," Father said. "That is why it is so important to listen to the Lord the very first time you hear Him speak."

Mother said, "I know Someone else who has scars for life."

''You do?" asked the children. ''Who?''

"Jesus," said Mother. "Isaiah 53:5 says, 'But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities, and by His stripes we are healed.' I believe that Jesus still has these scars, even though He is in Heaven. That will remind us of what He did when He went to Calvary and paid the price to take away our sin-the same sin that caused you children to fight and get so angry."

Cindy said, ''Jesus has scars that we might have eternal life? Now I see what the verse means, 'By His stripes we are healed.' ".

As the family knelt together, the children asked Jesus to forgive them, and they thanked Him for His scars which give life.

[This true story was printed in "The Allegheny Wesleyan Methodist." Used by permission.]

A Burned Baby Healed

By Georgia McCain

Mother was very busy doing needful chores around the house, when she heard an awful scream. She ran toward the sound and discovered that her little I8-month-old son had climbed into the bathtub and turned the scalding hot water onto his sensitive skin. It seemingly had cooked it. First, it had hit his stomach and as he turned to try to get away from the hot stream of water, it scalded his back. The mother, upon seeing the terrible condition the child was in, almost went into a state of shock. She managed to call her dad, who came and rushed him to the doctor. The baby screamed constantly while en route to the doctor's office.

The doctor gave the child medication and bandaged his burns after applying ointment to them. (Today, no doubt he would have been placed in the hospital.) Every time the baby moved, the bandage would rub the burns and he would cry in the most pitiful manner. The accident happened on a Friday and the rest of that day and all day Saturday and Saturday night the ordeal continued. The mother would sit and hold the baby on her lap, tears coursing down her cheeks as she suffered along with her precious child.

On Sunday afternoon, some Christian friends who had heard of the accident came to pray for the baby. As they prayed, the Great Physician reached down His loving hand of mercy and instantly healed the little boy. He got off his mother's lap and started playing. He was healed without a scar or even reddened skin.

That child was my son, Randy. All glory to Jesus for His mighty healing touch--not only to Randy's body but to his mother's broken heart. Amen!

Abe Lincoln's First Letter

By Charles Ludwig

Ten-year-old Abe Lincoln carefully latched the cabin door and then headed for the graveyard fifteen feet to the south. There he sat at the foot of a white oak tree and, as he thoughtfully chewed a blade of grass, let his eyes wander over the fresh mounds of unmarked graves.

While soft Indiana winds blew across the land, stirring the water in nearby Pigeon Creek, and ruffled his coarse black hair, Abe's mind went back to the previous October. That was a month he would never forget. Indeed, it was a month he did not want to forget, even though its memory revived the ache in his heart.

From his bed in the loft during that time, he had heard his mother twist painfully on her cornhusk mattress and plead, "Tom, you must pray. Remember our God is a prayer-hearing God."

"In reply, Abe's father had sobbed, "O God, if it be Thy will, make Nancy well."

But Nancy Hanks Lincoln did not get well. Instead, as she neared the end, she summoned Abe to her side and whispered, "I am going away from you, and I shall not return. I know you will be a good boy. Be kind to Sarah and to your father. I want you to live as I have taught you and to love your Heavenly Father."

A few minutes after Nancy had stopped breathing, Tom selected a black cherry log that had been left over from the temporary pole house he had built when they had first moved from Kentucky to Indiana. He placed it in position and began to whipsaw it into boards for the coffin. Then he turned to Abe. "I'll be needing some pegs. Pick up some short pieces of cherry wood from the pile over there and start whittling them for me."

Abe got out his jackknife and whittled the pegs while the women of the neighborhood prepared the body for burial. It was hard to work through his tears. But he fought them, holding them back by remembering how his mother used to read to him from the worn family Bible. One of their favorite passages was John 14:1-2: "Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you."

On October 5, 1818, Abe and his sister, Sarah, along with their father, had followed the sled that bore the coffin to the cemetery. The leaves that day were yellow, crimson, and rust-brown, and there were little piles of them across the landscape.

There had been no funeral sermon, no singing, no praying, no reading from the Bible, and no one to comfort. Abe had merely stood with his father and sister while the clods clattered down on the coffin.

Now as Abe looked at his mother's grave, and the graves of so many others he had known who had died at about the same time because of the epidemic, he longed to do something to honor her. But what could he do? He thought and thought. Then his eyes lit up. The plan that presented itself was a daring one. Nevertheless, he had a feeling of confidence that it would succeed.

"Papa," said Abe across a warm plate of pork and hominy, "I've been thinking about Mamma and the others who died last fall. I think we ought to get a preacher to come and preach a sermon for them. Mamma loved the Lord so much, and it just doesn't seem right for us not to have had a few words from a man of God."

Tom paused with a piece of corn pone in his hand. "That sounds mighty good to me, Abe. I'm a God-fearing man. But since we don't have a regular meeting house and a local preacher, whom would we get?"

"I've been thinkin' about Rev. David Elkins, the one who preached at our church in Kentucky."

"But he lives over a hundred miles from here," objected Tom, with a look of concern crossing his round face.

"I know," replied Abe eagerly, "but his two boys, Warren and Hodgen, have moved over here into Indiana. Maybe\--maybe he could stop and preach on his way to visit them."

"The things that get into your head!" exclaimed Tom with genuine admiration. "But how will you let Reverend Elkins know you want him to come?"

"I'll write him a letter."

''Write a letter!" exclaimed Tom. ''You write a letter?"

"Of course, Papa. I'll just write and tell him to come when he can. If I have trouble spelling the bigger words, I can use the Dilworth Speller I used back at Knob Creek when I went to Mr. Riney's school. Please, Papa. Let me write to him. Please! I want everyone to know that my ma was a Christian."

''You have my permission," said Tom, helping himself to some more pork and hominy. "I just hope you succeed."

Abe was excited about the possibility of the Reverend Mr. Elkins' coming to Pigeon Creek. The preacher had visited them several times in Kentucky, and Abe remembered each visit with pleasure. David Elkins was born in South Carolina and had served as a private in the War of 1812. Known for his physical strength, it was said that he could lick his weight in wildcats--and that would have included many wildcats, for he weighed two hundred pounds.

Abe felt a tingle of excitement as he searched for a turkey quill with which to write his first letter. What did he use for ink? No one knows for sure. Some think he made his own ink out of berry juice, which is probably true. Also, we have no way of knowing what he wrote. He probably reminded the preacher about his earlier visit to the Lincoln cabin and how his mother loved the Lord. There is no way of knowing how the letter was sent. Perhaps, it was just handed to someone who was on his way across the Ohio River into Kentucky. We are certain, however, that the letter was received, for there were several who claimed to have seen it.

Reverend David Elkins agreed to come, and on the first Sunday of June, 1819, he rode into the community on a reddish-brown horse. The news of his arrival spread rapidly, and the people began to gather at the little cemetery near the Lincoln cabin. A person who was present wrote a short description of the event. "Some came in carts of the rudest construction, their wheels consisting of huge boles of forest trees and the product of ax and auger; some came on horseback, two or three upon a horse, others came in wagons drawn by oxen, and still others came on foot."

This was both a sad and a proud day for Abe. He stood with his father and Sarah at the front of the crowd for Reverend David Elkins to begin.

Presently. the red-headed preacher took his place at the foot of Nancy's grave. He could neither read nor write, but the people who had heard him in Kentucky knew the power of his preaching, and they waited eagerly for him to start his message.

The funeral service was not just for Abe's mother. It was for all who had been buried in the cemetery during the last year or so. Many of the families who had lost loved ones showed their respect by standing around the graves with their heads bowed. In a moment, Reverend David Elkins lifted his voice in prayer. A long silence followed. Next, he led the sorrowing congregation in song.

With his red head pushing into the gentle breeze, the Rev. Mr. Elkins began his message by mentioning how he had received the invitation to come from young Abe Lincoln.

Hearing his name mentioned like this in public was something new to Abe, and he felt a glow of satisfaction mingling with his grief. He hoped he had done something that would better the community.

David Elkins spoke about the resurrection. He told the crowd that the only way of salvation was through Christ, and that salvation is a gift we receive through faith. He also praised Nancy Hanks Lincoln, declaring her to be a "precious Christian and an example of true womanhood."

The people, thirsty for the gospel, listened with awe and respect. Many of them had not heard a sermon for months, and Rev. Elkins' message lifted their spirits.

A deerskin-covered minutes book shows that on June 8, 1816, the Christians of this community had organized a church. But fighting the wilderness had kept the little congregation so busy that they had not had time to select a site for the church building.

Inspired now by Rev. Elkins, one of the listeners said, "Let us build a house unto the Lord." Others agreed and enthusiasm spread. Tom Lincoln was chosen as the head carpenter and young Abe worked by his side. Soon the building was completed and regular services were started.

Later, as President of the United States, Abe Lincoln wrote many important letters. Some of these letters are considered masterpieces. But Abe Lincoln was always thankful that he wrote this particular letter, because it accomplished great things.

Sign Upon the Doorpost

Dear Friend:

Before you knock and enter, read:

A child is here; this is a Children s Home\--

The home of noise and happiness and tears,

A house of laughter and a shrine of Song;

Here all day long is the great world of play.

So, if your chaste eye scan the occasional scratch

On our illustrious secondhand buffet\--

A slight dust gathering on the desks and chairs--

A toy abandoned underneath your feet\--

Grime on the sill and smudges on the pane

Where small sons watch for Daddy--bear with us!

For we have vowed we shall not be among

That host which, growing old and lonely, says:

"I wish that I had not so often been

Too busy with my house, my tools, my lands

To laugh and sing and wonder with my child--

Enjoy his playtimes, answer th' incessant 'Why?

With patient foresight; walk and pray with him\--

Accept with gratitude th' imperfect aid

He offers--though it slow and hamper me.

It s too late now ... " Yea, we have vowed to God

That though our table may be simply spread,

The souls He gave us as His heritage

Shall know no want of comradeship and love.

So if your chaste eye flinch at what it sees

Within these happy walls\--oh bear with us!

When we are old and childless and alone,

Come back and tell us if we failed to choose

In youthful ignorance--that better part.

-THEIR PARENTS

He is Able

By Melinda Smith

Being born into a family of alcoholics can provide for a very lonesome life. Children born under such circumstances often grow up and never hear anything about Jesus, but in the life of Patricia Smith, this was not so.

Patricia was born in June of 1936, and like most babies, she was soft, cute, cuddly, and loved attention. But she was not to have a normal life; her parents were alcoholics.

Patricia was placed in an orphanage at a very young age and would be in and out of homes and orphanages for the rest of her childhood. When she was still quite small, her mother would visit her, promise to take her home, and leave before the child could get ready to go with her.

Ever since she could remember, Patricia had longed to be pure and holy (just the opposite of her mother), although she knew nothing about God. Sometimes she would sit and watch the Catholic nuns walk down the street and wish she could be like them. When she was ten years old, she finally told her mother that she wanted to be a nun. Her mother agreed that it was a good idea and took her to the convent to enroll. When they arrived and told the Sister what they wanted, the Sister then told them that the Mother Superior was on vacation and wouldn't be back for two weeks, so they couldn't accept Patricia until then. Patricia's mother didn't want to wait, so she placed her in a children's home.

Although Patricia didn't know it then, this was to be a turning point in her life. While at that home, Patricia heard of a little Methodist church just a few blocks away. Each Sunday morning from then on, she would get up and get about fourteen children ready and take them to church. Soon after she began attending church she was saved, and later she attended Bible School. When she was grown, Patricia took two children to raise, but was never married. Now she is a missionary in Haiti and has a Christian orphanage so children don't have to live on the streets.

[This true account taken from The Youth Compass published by Herald and Banner Press, Box 4060, Overland Park, KS. 66204. Used by permission.]

The Stolen Plum

By Georgia McCain

A little boy who had been taught right principles by his Christian parents went with his mother to a grocery store one day. In passing the produce department, he was intrigued with the beautiful red plums. Oh, how delicious they looked! How appetizing! Looking around him, and seeing no one looking, he popped one in his mouth.

Some time later, while yet a little chap, God began to deal with his heart. As he listened to God's voice, God reminded him of the plum he had eaten while no one was looking. Oh, how terrible he felt! He came into his mother's room and woke her up to tell her what he had done and how sorry he was. Mother prayed with him and he was gloriously saved, promising God he would make restitution concerning the stolen plum.

Since he didn't go to the store very often, Mother suggested he write a letter and enclose a dime and confess his wrongdoing. This he did, and two days later, on the front page of the daily newspaper was a copy of the letter (without his name) with this headline: "He took out a plum and put back a dime, and now what a good boy is he."

How many people, do you suppose, read this little boy's letter and was convicted of things they had taken "when no one was looking" which amounted to much more than a stolen plum? "Be sure your sins will find you out.

[The little boy in the story was Danny McCain, son of the author, now a missionary to Nigeria, Africa. I wonder where he would be if he hadn't minded God in this incident.]

What Sort of Father Are You?

What sort of father are you to your boy?

Do you know if your standing is good?

Do you ever take stock of yourself and check up

Your accounts with your boy as you should?

Do you ever reflect on your conduct with him?

Are you all that a father should be?

Do you send him away when you're anxious to read,

Or let him climb on your knee?

Have you time to bestow on the boy when he comes

With questions--to tell him the truth?

Or do you neglect him, and leave him alone

To work out the problems of youth?

Do you ever go walking with him, hand in hand?

Do you plan little outings with him?

Does he ever look forward to romping with you?

Or are you eternally grim?

Come father, reflect! Does he know you today?

And do you know him as you should?

Is gold so important to you that you leave

It to chance, that your boy will be good?

Take stock of yourself, and consider the lad;

Your time and your thought are his due.

How would you answer your God, should He ask,

"What sort of father are you?"

From American Youth

A Christmas Gift for Papa

One Christmas Eve, years ago, duty compelled me to spend the night at the prison, instead of at home, as I had anticipated. I left the prison for my home, my pockets full of presents for my little girl. It was a bitter cold morning, and I buttoned my overcoat up to protect myself from the cutting wind that swept in from the lake. As I hurried along, I thought I saw somebody skulking in the shadow of the prison wall. I stopped and looked a little more closely, and then, I saw a little girl, wretchedly clothed in a.thin dress, her bare feet thrust into a pair of shoes much the worse for wear. In her hand she held, tightly clasped, a small paper parcel. Wondering who she was and why she was out so early in the morning, and yet too weary to be interested, I hurried on. But soon I heard that I was being followed. I stopped, and turned around, and there before me stood the wretched-looking child.

''What do you want?" I asked.

''Are you the keeper of the prison, sir?"

''Yes. Who are you, and why are you not at home?"

Please, sir, I have no home. Mamma died two weeks ago, and she told me just before she died that Papa was in prison, an' she thought maybe he would like to see his little girl now. Please, can't you let me see my Papa? Today is Christmas, and I want to give him a present."

"No," I replied. ''You will have to wait until visitors' day." I started on. I had not gone many steps when I felt a pull at my coat, and a pleading voice said, "Please, don't go." I stopped once more and looked into the pinched, beseeching face before me. Great tears were in her eyes, while her little chin quivered with emotion.

"Mister," she said, "If your little girl was me, and your little girl's mamma had died an' her papa was in the prison, an' she had no place to go an' no one to love her, don't you think she would like to see her papa? If it was Christmas, and your little girl came to see me, if I was a keeper of the prison, an' asked me to please let her see her papa to give him a present, don't you--don't you think I would say yes?"

By this time, a great lump was in my throat, and my eyes were swimming in tears. I answered, "Yes, my little girl, I think you would. And you shall see your papa." Taking her hand, I hurried back to the prison, thinking of my own fair-haired little girl at home. Arriving at my office, I bade her come near the warm stove, while I sent a guard to Cell no. 37. The Man came out of the cell. When he saw the little girl, his face formed an angry frown, and in a gruff voice he snarled, "Nellie, what are you doing here? What do you want? Go back to your mamma."

"Please, papa," begged the little girl, "Mamma's dead. And before she died she told me to take care of little Jimmie, 'cause you loved him so, an' Papa," and her voice broke in sobs and tears, "Jimmie died, too, last week, and now I am alone, Papa, an' today is Christmas, Papa, an' I thought maybe as you loved Jimmie, you would like a little Christmas present from him."

Here she unrolled the little bundle she held in her hand, until she came to a little package of tissue paper, from which she took out a little fair curl. She put it in her father's hand, saying, "I cut it from dear little Jimmie's head, Papa, just before they buried him."

Her papa by this time was sobbing like a child, and so was I. Stooping down, he picked up the little girl, pressed her convulsively to his breast, while his great frame shook with suppressed emotion.

The scene was too sacred for me to look upon, so I softly opened the door and left them alone. In about an hour,I returned. Her father stayed near the stove with his little daughter on his knee. He looked at me sheepishly, for a moment, and then said, "Sir, I haven't any money." Then suddenly, stripping off his prison jacket, he said, "For God's sake, don't let my little girl go out this bitter cold day with that thin dress. Let me give her this coat. I'll work early and late. I'll do anything. I'll be a man. Please, sir, let me cover her with this coat." Tears were streaming down the face of the hardened man.

"No," I said, "Keep your coat. Your little girl shall not suffer. I'll take her to my home and see what my wife can do for her."

"God bless you," sobbed the prisoner.

I took the girl home. She remained a number of years and became a Christian by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Tom Galson, the girl's father, also became a Christian and then he gave us no more trouble.

A few years later, I walked down a quiet street, stopped at a neat house, and knocked at the door. The door was opened by a young woman, Nellie, now living with her father, who because of his reformation had received pardon and was now living an upright Christian life. Her little Christmas gift had broken his hard heart.

Christ died for the ungodly. Rom. 5:6

And a little child shall lead them.

Bessie and the Stolen Penny

As told by Bro. G. C. Bevington

I went once into a home in Cincinnati for dinner and noticed the mother was anxiously running to the window. I said, "Sister, is there something you want?"

"Yes, she said, "I am looking for Bessie to come. I want her to run to the grocery. She is late from school." I said, "Let me do the errand for you."

"Well, I want a loaf of bread."

"All right, where do you get it?"

"Round the corner, first grocery."

So I took the nickel, got the bread and started back. The clerk said, "Wait, here is a penny." So I took the penny, laid the bread and penny down on the sister's plate. Soon she lifted up her bread and saw the penny. She said, "Brother Bevington, do you know how that penny got there?" I said, "I dropped it there.

''What for?"

''Why, the clerk gave it to me."

Well, children, I wish I could draw a picture of that mother's face, as I told her this. I saw that there was something going on down in her heart and soul. It showed on her face. I said nothing, but wondered what made all those rapid changes on her countenance. So Bessie came. We had our dinner, and after Bessie had gone to school, the sister said, "Brother Bevington, I am in great sorrow."

I said, "I see that something crossed your path from the time you found out where that penny came from. What is it?"

''Well,'' she said, "Bessie gets two loaves of bread daily, and she never has given me any change, as you have. I will go down now and see the grocer."

Soon she returned, crying as if her heart would break, and said, "Oh, Brother Bevington, what am I to do? Bessie has been keeping those pennies for three months since they cut bread down to four cents. Oh, what does it mean?" She just sat down and cried. I did up the dishes for her and tried to make excuses for Bessie. I told her maybe Bessie was saving them up to surprise her with a present later on. "Oh, I wish it were so, but Brother Bevington, my heart is about to break. I am fearful, I am fearful." How she did cry!

Well, she said nothing til her husband came home from his work and then she revealed the case to him. She said, "What shall we do?" I had left before that.

Well, I was gone about two months, then came back to the city. I was anxious to know about that penny affair, so went up, and the mother told me that they waited until just after supper and then asked Bessie. Well, Bessie just broke down and cried. She got up from the table, went to her mamma, threw her arms around her, and wept, saying, "Oh, I am so sorry." When she got through crying, she told them how it came about. Now, children, remember Satan is watching all the time to trip you up, to get you to do something wrong; so you must be careful. Bessie said that when she started out with the first loaf after the cut in price, the grocer called her back and gave her the penny. She intended to give the penny to her mamma. But as she was going out the door, a schoolmate met her, and said, "Oh, Bessie, did you get a penny?"

"Yes."

"Well, now, you know you lost your slate pencil and your mamma will think you were very careless in so doing; so if I were you, I would get a pencil, and then your mamma wouldn't know you lost yours. Tomorrow you can give her the penny."

Well, that looked all right to Bessie, so they went to the store and got the pencil, but Bessie felt quite badly about it, and before she reached home, said, "I don't feel just right about this. I will go back and get my penny, returning the pencil, and tell mamma all about it."

But another voice said, "Oh, no, just go on; you can begin tomorrow as the cut was just made today. One day won't matter." So this naughty voice prevailed. She went in, fully determined to give her mother the next penny that evening. But Satan had gotten her to do the wrong thing once and he was right there to see that she kept it up, as it would not do to let her go now that he had gotten her started. So that evening she got another penny. When she started home, the good voice said, "Now, give mamma this penny."

But the bad voice was there, and said, "You know they are having taffy on a stick now at the candy store for a penny, and you have always been such a good girl and papa don't give you pennies, and you haven't had any candy now for three weeks; so you go over and get one. Tomorrow you can begin giving mamma the penny, and she will never know but what the cut has just begun."

So Bessie stopped, looked in at the window, and thought, "Oh, that taffy on the stick is so nice. Oh, I just want one so bad." But she bit her lip. That good voice said, "No, you give mamma that penny." And she said, "I will," and started home. But that bad voice stopped her, and Satan made her mouth oh, so hungry for that candy! She turned around and said, "I will begin tomorrow," and again yielded to Satan's bad voice.

That night, at her prayer, she had quite a time in stammering it out, but Satan was there and made her bold; she got through after a struggle. Well, next day, it was not much trouble for Satan to get her to get some candy; and each day, he had some new thing for her until she could say her "Now I lay me down to sleep" without any trouble. You see, children, Satan was hardening her conscience and silencing that alarm bell in her bosom, so that she could steal her mamma's pennies and say her prayers without much trouble. But, listen, God saw that the mother must know of what was going on, so He sent me around there to have the thing exposed. He managed to keep Bessie late from school, so I could.go after the bread. Children, remember what the Bible says, "Be sure your sins will find you out." Bessie thought she had this all covered up and was planning what to do with her two pennies a day.

Well, Bessie came to the altar, confessed it all out and got forgiveness from God, and her parents never whipped her for it; they let God punish her, and He let it all come out. So she never did anything like that afterwards. Oh, how that mother did weep and pray that God would take care of Bessie, and keep her pure and honest.

Well, the next time I saw Bessie, she came running, jumped in my arms and just hugged and kissed me. She said, "Oh, Brother Bevington, God sent you around here to get me out of that tangle. That would have made a very bad girl out of me. You came just in time to save me." She was glad that I had uncovered Satan's well-covered plan to ruin her. Bessie grew up to be a fine mother and is watching her precious children that God has given her to be a blessing in this world.

A Little Tot Backslides

By Bro. G. C. Bevington

I was holding a meeting below Rising Sun, Indiana, and was in a home where there was a little tot. She couldn't talk plain, but would say her "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer every morning and night. So one night she wouldn't say it. So Mamma said, "Gracie, aren't you going to say your prayer?"

"Nope."

"Well, why?"

"Tuas I'se bak-sid."

I had never heard anything like that from such a little tot, and I was so amused that I had to go outdoors. Mamma shook her head at me, as she went over to where the tot was. She said, "Well, Gracie, how did you come to backslide?"

'''Tuas I dot mad at Jim and said a bad word."

''Well,'' said Mamma, ''You must get back to Jesus again." So the dear little thing just cried and prayed. Then she rose and said, '''Tis all right. I'se all right."

I tell you that was a good lesson for me. You couldn't get her to say saved, sanctified, up-to-date, while she was doing wrong. If all children were that honest, it would be a rebuke to many an older person.

[Taken from the book Remarkable Incidents and Modern Miracles Through Prayer and Faith by G. C. Bevington.]

Old-Fashioned Principle

By Betty C. Etner

Just as I finished filling the two sugar bowls on the counter, I heard the crunch of tires on gravel and saw a wheezing old flivver rattle to a stop beside the gas pumps.

Pity welled in my heart as the tired travelers climbed from their dusty car. Piled on the top, on the back, and hanging from the radiator ornament were pans, boxes, toys and mysterious bulging packages, all lashed helter-skelter wherever a rope could be attached.

"Hi," I nodded to a lanky, overalled man as he shuffled toward me.

"Howdy, ma'am," he said courteously, pulling his battered hat from his head. "Ma'am, we would like one dollar's worth of gas, and what do you folks git fer your cabins? My woman's mighty poorly, and we thought as how we might rest a spell."

''Well, $5.00 is our usual price for a double unit," I said, realizing even that would not be enough to include the four boys and three girls who had erupted from the car, running first to the rest rooms and then to the water fountain. Watching them, I quickly added, "but business is slow, so I think I can make it three-fifty Is that all right?"

''Yes, ma'am, and thank you. That's right neighborly. And never you mind about the beds. I can make a pallet on the floor for the young 'uns."

He pulled out a scarred leather coin purse and dug into it with stiff, arthritic fingers, Each dollar bill was drawn from the knot with great deliberation, the habit of one who has to make one dollar do the work of many.

The towheaded youngsters raced up to their cabin, but the pale mother was still in the car, head back, and eyes closed. The man returned to the car, eased himself in and leaned over to gently kiss his frail wife on her cheek. A faint smile stirred her features as she murmured something to him, and he coaxed the sputtering car up the driveway.

Later that evening, we heard footsteps, and the discreet clearing of a throat.

The man held an empty quart milk bottle, and the littlest boy, about six, clung to his hand.

I greeted the pair. "Good evening. Are you getting settled all right?"

"Evenin', ma'am," he smiled. ''Yes'm, we're doin' fine, We're all eatin' our vittles in the cabin." He thrust the milk bottle toward me. "Mother and me sorta like to have a little coffee with our supper."

After tucking the filled bottle under his arm, he snapped open his purse, at the same time nodding toward the candy case. "How much are them licorice whips, ma'am?" The boy was already devouring them with his eyes.

"Two for a penny."

"I'll take four, please, And here's for the coffee." At the door he turned. "Tell the lady good night, Tad,"

"Good-night, ma'am," the boy whispered timidly.

I watched the stoop-shouldered, rangy man sweep his little son onto his shoulder as they headed across the yard.

Midmorning of the next day, as I headed home from the market, I saw the battered old Ford, pulling out into the stream of traffic, and pointing its rusty nose westward.

After unloading the groceries, I stocked the shelves, fed the chickens, telephoned orders for butane and water, prepared the hamburger patties and cooked the soup. But I had not gotten around to cleaning the vacancies. By noon, there was still the laundry to be done, and I headed for the washhouse when something caught my eye. There was no mistaking that swaying silhouette as it approached along the highway from the west. It was old Betsy with her cargo of nine searching souls.

Puzzled, I decided whatever they had forgotten must be valuable to retrace so many miles. The flivver panted to a stop. The family was hushed as the man uncoiled his long legs and stood up beside the car, now belching steam from the radiator. Turning, he called, "Come along, boy."

The little one, who before had clung to his father like a burr, now seemed reluctant to join him. Finally, he climbed over laps and legs to half fall out the car door. Slowly, they came toward me. "Give the lady what you took, son!"

I watched the family quietly, feeling the tension mount. Tears brimmed in the' child's eyes as he mutely pleaded for a reprieve, but the man was unyielding.

Slowly, one grubby little hand dug into the pocket of his ragged pants. The fist emerged, then opened to expose a small wrapped bar of soap. Now the tears were creeping down the pale thin cheeks; the outstretched hand trembled.

In my bewilderment, I stammered, "But that's a guest bar of soap! Those little bars are put there for guests ... to use ... or even to take! They're free," I added lamely.

The weary man tenderly laid his work-worn hand on the boy's head. He looked at me earnestly, and then all the love of a devoted but stern father poured from his heart as he said quietly, "Yes, ma'am, I know I knew it; you knew it. But he didn't know it."

Catherine Booth's Childhood

By Colonel Mildred Duff

Catherine Booth, the mother of the Salvation Army, was born on Jan. 17, 1829. As a little girl she sought after God. She had a very good mother, a holy woman, who spent time in training "Katie," as she was then called. Katie, whose maiden name was Mumford, had no sister to play with. She had four brothers, but only one lived to be grown. But her dear mother more than made up for every lack, and from her lips the little girl learned many wonderful lessons.

One lesson which she learned early was that our bodies will not live forever. Her mother took Katie to see the body of her infant brother who had just died; and though she was no more than two at that time, Katie never forgot that first lesson. Because spiritual things were so real to her mother, they became real to Katie. Heaven was her future home and Jesus was her best friend who was near to help and guide her.

Truthfulness was a second lesson taught to Katie. She was about four when her mother found her sobbing bitterly in a little cot long after she should have been asleep. She had told a lie, and her conscience wouldn't let her rest. She sobbed out her confession and her mother prayed with her, and then she felt happy that God had forgiven her.

Another lesson early taught to Katie by her mother was to love the Bible. She could read when she was only five years old, and she loved to read the Bible stories aloud to her mother, who helped her with the very long words. She loved the Bible so much she had read it through eight times by the time she was twelve.

When Katie was young, she had very dark hair, which curled naturally; black, flashing eyes, and such a warm heart. Whatever she did, work or play, her whole soul had to be in it.

Katie was not strong and had few girl friends, so she did not play rough or noisy games. But she loved her dolls and was quite a mother to them. She treated them like real children, and would sew and toil and never rest till she felt she had done her duty to them.

Katie loved animals, too, especially dogs and horses, and could not bear to see anyone mistreat them. Oh, how she suffered one day as she watched some poor sheep being driven down the road!She watched the man beat them--she could not stop him; and at last she ran home, and flung herself down almost choking and speechless with distress.

Her mother did not check Katie for the way she felt. She knew that if Katie was hard and indifferent now, she would become a hard and indifferent woman who could see suffering and be unconcerned. She wanted Katie to be full of love and tenderness for all who needed help.

When Catherine or "Katie" was twelve, she became interested in the drink question. She wrote letters about it and sent them to different newspapers. She became secretary of what was then called a Junior Temperance Society and did all she could to get boys and girls to promise never to touch a drop of liquor.

Katie was also interested in the heathen. She would go round to all her friends collecting money to give to preachers to go to the heathen. She would even deny herself sugar and other luxuries to get money to give to them.

For two years, Katie went to a boarding school, and here her companions soon found out how truthful she was. "You'll never get her to tell a lie," the girls said, "not even to exaggerate, so it's no use trying." Katie felt for the backward girls and those who had a time learning and would help them between school hours. Her joy was to help others. Whether at home or school she was the same.

When Katie was at school two years, God sent her a great trial. She had to return home for three years to lie nearly all the time on her back, suffering very much. She had a serious spinal complaint, and it was doubted if she would ever walk again.

While she was laid up, as the pain would permit, she would knit and sew; little things like baby socks and hoods, pincushions, etc. She would then sell them to help in God's work.

Also, Katie read a lot. She read her Bible and other good books\--explanations of the Bible about Holiness, soul-saving, and the lives of those who served God. For seven months she had to lie on her face on a special sort of couch made especially for her, and she invented a way where she could still read the Bible, even though she was lying on her face.

If we had known Katie in those three years of pain and weariness, we would have pitied her very much and maybe wondered why God allowed this to happen to her. But God was fitting her for the wonderful future that was ahead of her, teaching her as she lay there alone what she never could have learned in the ordinary way.

God will train you, too, in the best way for your future if you will trust and obey Him in every detail of your life.

God's Faithfulness

One day, a teacher in an East German school told the children in his class to stand and say, "There is no God!" In the class was an eight-year-old girl from a Christian home who believed that there was a God. Her parents prayed to Him and their prayers were answered, which proved to her that God is. So she refused to comply with the teacher's demand.

Try as he might, the teacher could not make her deny God. Finally, he commanded her to go home and write "There is no God" fifty times and bring it to him the next day.

When the girl told her mother what had happened, that mother did not know what to say, for she was afraid of the Communists. But she did pray. That night the girl sat down and wrote fifty times, "Es gibt Doch ein Gott." (There IS a God.)

The teacher flew into a rage when he read the words she had written. He commanded her to go home and write "There is no God" five hundred times "or else." The girl knew very well that "or else" meant death.

When she told her father that night what was taking place, he looked at her approvingly and, with a calmness equal to hers, said, "Tomorrow we shall both see the superintendent of the school. Do not worry about it anymore."

That night, the little girl slept with no anxious thoughts. She believed in God. She knew He would take care of her.

When she and her father told the superintendent about the trouble they were in, the superintendent said, "Little girl, your teacher was killed in a motorcycle accident yesterday. The matter is ended."

Tulsa, Oklahoma Church Bulletin

Ina's Call to China

By Ina Shreve McVey

When I was eight years old, I had a deep longing in my heart to know the Lord. Shy, timid, and quiet was I, yet ever since I can remember there was something pulling me toward God. On the housetop, up in the apple tree, in the fig tree, on the lawn\--I used to sit and meditate. Of all the memories of my childhood days, these are the clearest. That being alone, thinking, meditating, and longing to see God, fills the horizon of my earliest recollections. I wondered how the angels appeared to Abraham, and how it was that Lot and different ones had seen angels. I wondered if God would ever let an angel speak to me if I would stay on this housetop, up above all the place round about it and the neighbors' houses. I had a nice little place where I would sit and wait. I waited, not only one month and two months, but I waited almost a year, wondering if God would speak to me; but I was not sure that I was a Christian. There is one Scripture that says, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." That was my favorite Scripture. We went to church and Sunday School steadily, but this did not satisfy. Could I see God for myself? How would He come?

I was almost ten years old when we attended a revival meeting held by the Baptists and Methodists. One night, the Methodist preacher would preach, and the next night the Baptist preacher would preach. I do not remember the message and I do not remember who preached on this particular night, but at the close of one of the services during this revival I was brought under indescribable conviction for sin--no special sin, but I was certain I was lost. My limbs felt numb and I could hardly move. The next thing I knew, I was up at the front at the altar with many others. I do not recall having gone up the aisle. There I was praying, and confessing, and repenting. Joy flooded my soul as they sang, "Lord, I'm coming home." My sins were washed away, I knew. I still had not seen God as I longed to do, but I knew I was a child of God. During the next three years, I continued in meditation and hoping. Light had not fully dawned on me.

At the age of thirteen, I began hearing God speak as He had not spoken previously. It was not on the housetop, nor on that favorite limb of the apple tree, but it was in my room about twelve o'clock at night. All in the house were sound asleep. I awoke. I felt somewhat as I had felt the night I went to the altar. I called my mother after crying for awhile, for I did not know what to do, nor did I know why I was so uncomfortable. She took me to the reception room, which was more private than all the others, and there she inquired if I had done anything that I should not have done. She also asked me if I was ready to meet Jesus if He were to come that night, and then she prayed while I cried.

The next night, the same thing happened at about the same time. I was ashamed to call my mother again, for what could I say when she asked, "What is the matter? Why do you cry?" Therefore, I went to a clothes closet where a trunk with a stack of quilts was stored. I climbed up on top of the quilts. I cried and began praying. I remember how God came and spoke to me. He revealed Himself to me and told me He wanted me to go to China. The map of China, with a bright light about the size of a penny, appeared before me in that dark clothes closet .. There was not a sound to be heard anywhere, but as I looked on the map, the bright spot continued there. I thought, "Can it be that the Lord is trying to speak to me concerning this?" I said, "Lord, I know I could never go, but if you call me I will say, 'Here am I, send me.' " I began to get relief and repeated it again and again. Joy filled my soul; the burden rolled away; I felt relieved.

It seemed my life--the plan of the Almighty God to make me and fit me for China.

Young people, the Lord Jesus is speaking especially to you. Open your hearts to Him and keep yielded, longing for his presence and His Spirit to enter into your hearts. Keep your hearts open, expect to have Him speak to you from day to day, and your hearts can be satisfied, for my heart was eventually satisfied.

The call to China was held on me until I made preparations to go.

Ina obeyed God's voice, and after her preparations, some years later; she set sail for China. She spent many years in missionary work there and, because of her labors there, many dear Chinese will be in Heaven. Let us, too, obey the voice of God

[This story is taken from the book, 'Tis the Master Calling Me.]

Little Blind Fanny Crosby

Except for the first six weeks of her life, Fanny Crosby was always blind. From her earliest childhood, she was taught the Bible by her mother and grandmother. As a young girl, she could repeat from memory the five books of Moses, most of the New Testament, many of the Psalms, the Proverbs of Solomon, the book of Ruth, and the Song of Solomon. "During these many years," she said later, "My love for the Bible has never waned. Its truth has been bred into my life. My mother and grandmother took pains that I knew the Bible better than any other book. All that I am and ever expect to be is due to the Bible. This Holy Book has nurtured my life."

She had a sunny disposition. She made up her mind that she would not allow her blindness to darken her life and sour her nature. Everywhere she went she scattered sunshine. Therefore she was made welcome wherever she went.

At the age of fifteen, Fanny's prayer for an educational opportunity was answered. She attended the Institution for the Blind in New York. Here she remained for twenty-three years, first as a student, then a teacher.

Fanny Crosby is known for her many hymns, inspired by her loving Lord. Among her hymns, which numbered about 8,000, are "Rescue the Perishing," "Saved by Grace," "Safe in the Arms of Jesus," "Pass Me Not; O Gentle Savior," and "Savior, Let Me Walk With Thee."

Fanny died Feb. 11, 1915, at the age of ninety-four, Now, as we sing the beautiful song, "Safe in the Arms of Jesus," that she wrote, we can know she is enjoying the blessings the song describes:

Safe in the arms of Jesus,

Safe on His gentle breast--

There, by His love o'ershaded,

Sweetly my soul shall rest.

Hark! 'Tis the voice of angels,

Borne in a song to me,

Over the fields of Glory,

Over the jasper sea.

Childhood Memories of his First Camp

By C. C. Knippers

Among my fondest recollections was that of one Sunday morning shortly after we had bought a new wagon. My father went out and harnessed up the horses, and we were soon on our way to the. first camp meeting I ever had the privilege to attend. Since our wagon was the only factory-made wagon there, it was an outstanding attraction, but not half the attraction that the camp meeting was to me. I shall never forget that camp meeting, although I was only six years of age.

The hospitality, the love and kindness that seemed to dominate the lives of those people made an impression that has stayed with me. It was different from what I was accustomed to. The people were unusually friendly. With a "God bless you, we're glad you're here," and a hearty handclasp, they really made us feel at home. I had gone to church all my life, but this was different. These people at the camp meeting manifested such a beautiful spirit.

Those kind friendly workers led us down the aisle and seated us near the front. Although I was young, I still remember how that service was conducted and how unlike the usual service it was. I have forgotten many things of my childhood days, but the memory of that old Methodist camp meeting lingers with me yet. Great crowds attended that meeting. The tabernacle was soon filled.

Brother Sanders rose to his feet on the platform with the glory of God on his face and praised God for saving, sanctifying and calling him to preach the gospel, which is the power of God unto salvation. He then called the people to the platform to sing. They came with smiles on their faces, with the praise of God in their hearts. He then said, ''We are glad to have Miss Sermon here and she will have charge of the music and direct this great choir."

She arose and praised God for the great salvation that she was privileged to enjoy and for the opportunity of having a part in the service of her Master. She then announced the number of the song and directed the choir in singing, "There's Power in the Blood."

By the time they had sung the first stanza, she began to get blessed, stopped singing, and had started praising God for the blood of Jesus that cleanses from all sin. By that time, I felt the Power of God so definitely that it seemed my hair was standing straight up on my head. I tried to smooth it down, but found that it was already in place.

Then Brother Sanders, that great man of God, rose and said, ''We will now have a testimony meeting." I did not know what was going to take place, but the people began to rise and thank God for salvation. Some were shouting His praises aloud, but the Knippers family looked on with sad and empty hearts. We just did not know what it was all about, because we had not become acquainted with this Christ of Calvary, the Blessed Lamb of God, who takes away our sin and gives us peace, joy, and happiness.

After the testimony meeting was over, Brother Sanders took his text and began to preach. He talked about an hour, then made an altar call, inviting sinners to come down, repent of their sins, and accept Christ as their Savior. He also extended the invitation to the poor backslider, who had lost his way, to come back to God. He then urged believers to consecrate their all to God and be sanctified wholly. The long altar was soon filled, and saints gathered around and began to pray to God to be merciful unto these poor sinners. People soon began to pray through and shout the praises of God until no one could doubt that it was real. Glory to God, I will never forget it.

After the service was over, we started for home. As we drove along, my father and mother talked about the service. They declared they had never seen anything like it. Never before had they seen people so happy. What definite testimonies they had given. They said the preacher could quote more Scripture than anyone else they had ever heard. I was only six years old and that was the first Holiness meeting I had ever attended, but I was under such conviction I could hardly live. My father and mother talked like we would go back, and how I did hope we would! But the next morning, our pastor came over and discouraged it, so my father and mother decided to take his advice and never went back. If I could have gone back to that meeting, I believe I would have been saved then. Probably Mother and Dad would have been converted then, also. They belonged to a church and were good citizens of the community, they provided for us children, but they were void of the most important things in life--the presence of God in their hearts. In my childhood days, I knew nothing of the joy of serving Jesus, which is the source of all happiness.

Thankfully, some years later the young man was blessedly saved and sanctified, and called to preach the glorious gospel of Jesus Christ. His parents, brother, and sister also gave their hearts to God. Thankfully, the scene and spirit of the old Methodist Camp Meeting never left him. Thank God for the faithfulness of the Blessed Holy Spirit.

[Told by C. C. Knippers in his book, My Life's Story and Family Album.]

Amanda Smith

The Little Slave That was Set Free

When Amanda Smith was born, her parents were slaves. They lived on different farms but both of them had good masters. Her father's master died and his mistress told him that he could work extra and buy himself free. He made brooms and husk mats to sell, and after his long day's work for his mistress, he would work on other farms until one and two o'clock in the morning and save all his money. After a while, he had enough money to buy himself, but he also wanted to buy his wife and children and set them free. Amanda had a praying grandmother as well as praying parents. Daily, they would pray for God to set them free from being slaves.

Here's how Jesus answered their prayers: Amanda's mother went with her mistress to an old-fashioned Methodist camp meeting. Her mistress was wonderfully saved. Soon after that, the mistress took sick with typhoid fever and died. But before she died, she called her relatives around her bedside and asked them, as a dying wish, to set Amanda's whole family free from slavery. Though they didn't want to, they were ashamed not to grant her dying request. Therefore, Amanda's whole family was set free from slavery. God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform.

Here is Amanda's story of her childhood:

I often say to people that I have a right to shout more than some folks; I have been bought twice, and set free twice, so I feel I have a right to shout. Hallelujah!

I was quite small when I was freed from slavery so know nothing about the experience of slavery, because I was too young to have any trials in it. But how well I remember my oId mistress. She dressed very much after the Friends' style. She was very kind to me, and I was a good deal spoiled, for a little darky. If I wanted a piece of bread, and if it was not buttered and sugared on both sides, I wouldn't have it; and when Mother would get out of patience with me, and go for a switch, I would run to my old mistress and wrap myself up in her apron, and I was safe. And oh!How I loved her for that. They were getting me ready for market to sell me, but I didn't know that. I suppose that is why they allowed me to do many things that otherwise I should not have been allowed to do. They used to take me in the carriage with them to church on Sunday. How well I remember my pretty little green satin hood, lined inside with pink. How delighted I was when they used to take me. Then the young ladies would often make pretty little things and give our mother for me. Mother was a good seamstress; she used to make all our clothes\--coats, pants and vests. She had a wonderful ability in this; she had but to see a thing of any style of dress or coat, or whatnot, and she would come home and cut it out. People used to wonder at it.

My dear old mistress used to knit. I would follow her around. Sometimes, she would walk out into the yard and sit under the trees, and I would drag the chair after her; I was too small to carry it. She would sit down awhile, and I would gather pretty flowers. When she got tired, she would walk to another spot, and I would drag the chair again. So we would spend several hours in this way.

My grandmother was a woman of great faith. I have often heard my mother say that it was to the prayers and' mighty faith of my grandmother that we owed our freedom. How I do praise the Lord for a godly grandmother, as well as mother. They believed that somehow God would open a way for our deliverance. The Lord answered their prayers and we were freed. We first lived in Maryland and later moved to a farm owned by John Lowe, and located on the Baltimore and York turnpike in the state of Pennsylvania.

My father and mother could both read, but I never remember them telling how they were taught. Father was the better reader of the two. Always on Sunday morning after breakfast, he would call us children around and read the Bible to us. I never knew him to sit down for a meal, no matter how scant, but that he would ask God's blessings before eating. Mother could get up the best dinner out of almost nothing of anybody I ever saw. We children never had to go to bed hungry. After our evening meal, usually of milk and mush, she would call us children and make us say our prayers before we went to bed.

I first went to school at the age of eight years. My teacher was the daughter of an old Methodist minister. Her name was Isabel Dull. She taught a little private school across from where we lived. She was a good friend of my mother and was very kind to us. She taught me my first spelling lesson. I first taught myself to read by cutting out large letters from the newspapers my father brought home. I would lay them on the window and ask Mother to put them together and make words, so I could read. How excited I was when I first read, "The house, the tree, the dog, the cow." I thought I knew it all. I would call the other children and show them how I could read

I did not get to go to school any more after that first summer, until I was thirteen. Then my brother and I had to go about five miles. There were very few colored children in that part of the country to go to the white school, but Mother was anxious for us to go, as was I.

One cold winter morning, the snow was deep and it was so cold that Mother thought it best we didn't go; but I wanted to go. She finally let me go alone. I put on my brother's boots with a good thick pair of 'stockings, a warm linsey-woolsey dress, and was well wrapped up. Off I started. The first half mile, I got on pretty well, but then how cold I began to get. I was near freezing to death. My first thought was to go home, but I was too plucky. I was afraid if I told Mother, she wouldn't let me go again, so I kept going. When I got to the school house, I couldn't open the door. I couldn't even speak. A white boy came up and said, "Why don't you go in?" I couldn't answer, so he opened the door and I went in. Someone came and took off my things and worked with me until I recovered from my stupor.

When I went to school, all the white children had to have their full lessons first, and if any time was left, the colored children had a chance.

When I was thirteen, I went to live with a lady named Mrs. Latimer. She was a widow with five children. She was very kind to me. Some months after I moved there, a great revival broke out at the Allbright Church. It went on for several weeks. One night, after the revival closed, I went to hear a lady named Mary Bloser, known for her deep piety and prayer life. One night, she came to me, a poor colored girl sitting way back by the door and invited me to the altar. I went and prayed with her help, the best I could, but did not get settled in the Lord.

I cannot remember the time from my earliest childhood that I did not want to be a Christian and would often pray alone, but I had a strong will and was full of pride. My pride held me, and Satan tormented me. But one day, years later, I went down into the cellar to pray. I got on my knees and began to pray, "O Lord, have mercy on my soul. I will serve Thee the longest day I live." I kept praying until I seemed to get to the end of everything. Then the burden rolled away. A flood of light and joy swept my soul. I sprang to my feet and looked at my hands. They looked new; I took hold of myself and said, ''Why, I am new; I am new all over." I cried out, "Hallelujah, I have got religion; glory to God, I have got religion."

A week later, the devil whispered to me that I really didn't have the witness to my conversion. I went to God again, and God came and the witness was clear.

This witness of God's Spirit to my conversion has been what has held me amid all the storms of life. Oh, what an anchor it has been. Hallelujah!

Amanda Smith, once a slave, not only to her master and mistress, but a slave to sin as well, was set free by her loving Heavenly Father and was used mightily by God for many years\--as long as she lived.

Dear children, it is hard for you to realize what it means to be a slave to a master, but the devil wants to make you a slave to sin. But, Jesus wants to set you free from sin and help you to live for Him even while you are very young. Ask Him to come into your heart today.

Victoria Prays for a Dog

By Donna McCain (Victoria's Mother)

Victoria wanted a dog very much and had begged her dad and mom for one, but they were very reluctant. They lived in a rented house without a suitable yard, and besides Dad was just not thrilled with the prospect of a dog. But Victoria was praying about the matter, and, though her earthly father said "no," she was looking for a "yes" from her Heavenly Father.

Through a series of miracles, God provided a way for her parents to purchase their first home. It had a wonderful fenced back yard\--just right for a frisky little puppy. As Dad reluctantly agreed, they went to the Humane Society'S pet adoption day. There they found Chica, a little corgi blend that had been given to the Humane Society by an elderly man who had moved in with his daughter. The dog was not welcome at his daughter's home, but she found a very welcome place at Victoria's. She arrived just in time to become the "best birthday present" Victoria ever had.

Dad's reluctance gradually melted. Sometimes mom and the kids would giggle when they heard him call her "Chica-boo" in that tone he reserved for babies and small children. However, they knew Chica had finally become "one of the kids" when she actually made it into one of his sermon illustrations.

It seems that God went to great lengths to answer one little girl's prayer, even to softening her parents' hearts. Could it be that Chica's addition to the Wilson family was also the answer to the prayer of the elderly gentleman who was forced to give her up?

A Schoolboy's Experience

By H. W. H.

That was a lonely day when I had been at school in Lee County (Ala.) "Rocky Ridge" Schoolhouse in 1869. I was asked that day to memorize seven pages of ancient history and informed by the schoolteacher that missing one word would result in my having the "hide taken off my back." This all happened when I was eleven years old; the teacher, with his eyes dancing in his head like yellow lights, pointed me to my seat and fixed the next morning at ten as the hour of recitation.

Over the lonely mountain road, with tears in my eyes, I wandered and, reaching home, soon informed my precious mother of the impossible task and the doom awaiting me the next day.

For once, I found that no human help could avail. Mother sat up late, trying to coax into my head the triumphs of Caesar and Hannibal. The fear of coming punishment deterred me from memorizing one answer on that seven-page history lesson. Mother persuaded me to retire and rise early when memory would be fresh and the lesson easy. I retired, but sleep fled; my flesh was cold and clammy, yet rising, fell to the story; but, alas, of no avail; hope sank. I could, even then, feel the seasoned hickory cutting long red furrows in my quivering flesh. Mother said, as she handed me my little tin dinner bucket, "There is one chance for you, my son. Go down into the woods just this side of the schoolhouse and ask God to help you learn the lesson, for He is a God that will answer your prayer."

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Over the lonely road, I trudged with steps of lead, reaching the deep pine woods within 500 yards of the school. I took my mother's advice and crept down under a great pine tree, crying to God as a poor boy all undone and helpless for assistance to learn the long lesson. In a moment, like a flash, I was conscious that help had come to me from the eternal world, my first message that ever went through to God, and my first conscious answer from God. I sprang up with new life and bright hope, my mind working like lightning, I ran to school, opened the history and literally ate the seven pages of history, kernel and core, until the teacher called me at 10 o'clock. My answers were so perfect that the irate teacher looked me over (a rapture betrays itself) and said, ''Young fellow, you saved your hide. Go to your seat."

It was God that answered my cry that day. My message went over space without battery, wire or poles, not even a relay, not even one cent of expense, and no outlay except a breaking heart and a faith deathless and resistless.

[Taken from the book God Was There by Clyde and Margaret Gouge, 1617 Independence Drive, Jefferson City, Mo. 65109. Used by permission.]

On Angel Wings

By Rev. Wm. Beirnes (Billy's father)

One morning during family altar, my wife noticed that our son, Billy, was under conviction, and asked him if he wanted to get saved. ''Yes,'' he replied. He then came to me as I was kneeling in prayer, and, throwing his arms around my neck, he said, "Daddy, I want to be saved." We told him to just repent of his sins, ask God to save him and believe Him to do it. Without hesitation, he lifted his face and hands to heaven and prayed earnestly for forgiveness. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, and in a minute or two, he was saved and praised the Lord. From that day till his death, he never failed to pray each day till his soul was greatly blessed.

One day Billy ran a sliver into his foot. It was just a small puncture, and we never expected it to develop into a serious condition; but before we knew it, he was stricken with tetanus. The doctor was called, but was unable to help him and told us so from the beginning.

Believing that God could heal, we called in two Christian elders to anoint and pray for him. When they prayed, God came and we felt God had healed him, but Billy did not recover but grew worse. Prayer was offered several times a day and each time, God blessed. Heaven just seemed to settle down on our home. It was easy to pray.

Often, Billy would call the family to prayer, and then call on each one by name, saying, "Mother, cry to God--Gladys, cry to God\--Doris, cry to God--Daddy, cry to God." Then he would cry to God in prayer, and with tears flowing he would plead for others to be saved. He would especially pray for one girl in the community. She had disappeared from her home, and Billy would earnestly pray that God would bring her back and save her. This prayer was answered after Billy slipped away to heaven.

As Billy suffered intensely, he was an example of patience. He knew he wasn't going to live, and one day he asked me to carry him from his bed to his couch. 1 did so, and then he asked me to bring him all his playthings and the few pennies he possessed. After bringing them to him, 1 asked, " Billy, do you want to play with them?"

"No," was his reply, "1 will not need them anymore. Give them all to Malcolm, for me." Thus he made his will.

He said, "I'm going to die, but do not tell Mother; it will hurt her." How thoughtful he was in everything! His will made, he asked me to carry him back to his bed. While 1 had him in my arms, he testified, "God has given me a clean' heart." How wonderful! God can give every child a clean heart. That is what it will take to get to Heaven.

After this, Billy called his little brother to him and asked him to get on his knees and pray. Malcolm kneeled beside the bed, and Billy put his hand on his head and prayed earnestly for his salvation. Malcolm didn't understand it all then, but in another year, as God gave him light, he went to the altar and prayed through to God\--as clearly as had Billy.

One day, I noticed Billy seemed to have a cloud over his soul, but 1 thought it might be because of his suffering, as he was growing near to the hour of death, which came the following night. Looking up into my face in deepest despair, he said, "Daddy, 1 guess I'll have to give up and go down to Hell." The devil was tempting him to doubt his salvation and give up his hope of heaven. The devil is a roaring lion and a liar, but can be defeated by pleading the blood of Jesus. Oh, how I hated the devil for trying to get my little boy to doubt God and his salvation, when so near eternity. I told Billy it was just a temptation, and for him to point the devil to the blood of Jesus and to where Jesus had saved him. We prayed and in a short time, Billy was again rejoicing in victory.

Just before death, he was again tested. He looked at me and said, "Daddy, 1 do not want to go into a hole in the ground." Death, you know is an enemy, but Jesus promised we could overcome death. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." Seeing the devil attacking him again, 1 said, "No, Billy, you are not going into a hole in the ground; that is just your little body. Jesus is coming for you and will take you to heaven."

I kneeled beside his bed and read him Revelation 7:17 and 21:4--Billy held onto every word that was read, and then he prayed again. As usual, Billy closed the prayer and once again was praising God. Friends had gathered and asked Billy to pray for them, so he prayed for each one who asked. We lingered on our knees and saw he was fast sinking in death. Suddenly, he saw heaven opened and raising the one arm that he could use, he pointed upward and cried with delight, "Daddy, look! Jesus!" Jesus had come for him. His face was shining with a heavenly light as he rejoiced and praised God. We all joined in praising the Lord with him. I looked in the direction he was pointing, and when 1 turned back, I saw my eldest daughter with her shining face turned heavenward, rapt and blessed. She saw through into the heavens as though there were no roof on the house and beheld the dazzling light of glory. Others saw a flash of light, but Billy saw Jesus. Heaven was so near and the presence of God too wonderful for words to describe.

At this time, two doctors came in and were about to inject a serum into his arm. He begged them to do no more but to let him go. His mother asked, "But Billy, do you not want to stay with daddy and mother?" He cried, "No, I want to go to heaven." He had seen the glory world and the sweet face of Jesus which made him forget the hole in the ground. Home and parents had also lost their attraction for him. A better home and a loving heavenly father were just in sight.

After about 20 minutes, the heavens opened up again, and his two little brothers who were already in Heaven greeted him. When Billy saw them, he said, "Well, there is Wilbur." Wilbur went to heaven at the age of 2 1/2 years, when Billy was only six weeks old. Billy did not know him in life, but in heaven they knew each other by name. Then Billy saw his other brother and cried with delight, ''Well, hello, Melvin," just like greeting an old playmate. And indeed they had been the greatest of playmates until God took Melvin to heaven at the age of two.

Billy then entered into a conversation that we could not understand, which we supposed was the language of heaven; but once in a while, the Lord let him break out in language clear to us. He raised his hand with great effort and said, "Reach your hand a little farther, Melvin, so I can get hold of it." Then he later said, "Come here, Malcolm; Melvin wants to see you." Malcolm is Melvin's twin brother. Think of it: Melvin in Heaven wanted to see his twin brother on earth. Mother went to bring Malcolm to the bedside, but God had put him into a deep sleep so that he could not be awakened, no matter how Mother tried; so returning, she told Billy that Malcolm could not come, for he was asleep and she could not awaken him. Billy spoke again to his brother, saying in a disappointed tone of voice, "Malcolm cannot come now, but he will see you in the morning."

Billy soon lost consciousness, and after a while, slipped away to that Heavenly home. We shall meet him, and all the other loved ones, in the morning over there. Praise God forever!

[Taken from my book, Remarkable Incidents and Answers to Prayer.]

Willie's Rebellion

By Anna Talbott McPherson

Little five-year old Bramwell Booth wondered about the letter in his childish way\--the letter from his mother, who was away from home helping Father in a meeting. She had written, "I do hope you are praying to the Lord every day to help you and trying to do as Grandma and Mary tell you, and, if you are, I know this letter will find you happy, because when little children are good, they are always happy; but I never view a naughty child to be happy in my life, and I dare say Grandma never did. Just ask her if she did.

"I see you begin to think it is a long time before Papa comes to fetch you, and I am sure I think so too. But you see we cannot always do just what we would like. We have to wait till the Lord lets us, and we may be always sure He knows best."

Yes, Bramwell, or Willie as they called him, knew Mama was right about a naughty boy not being happy, but it was so hard to be good every day. And as to that part about God always knowing  
best, he wasn't at all sure. He had notions of his own about what was best, clear notions about what he wanted, at least.

Willie looked upon his father as a good and wonderful man. He loved his mother as few children of his age do. But he could not feel quite as they did about God's part in his life. More and more, he braced his boyish mind against what mother desired and taught! His contrary Iittle heart would not let him accept God's rule. Of course, he was miserable. For months, he was wretched with a sense of wrongness in his heart. But he couldn't help it!

When Willie was seven, he attended services his parents were holding in Cardiff, but he did not enjoy them. He sat with his head held high in a feeling of pride that he was the preacher's son, but on his sensitive babyish face were set those lines of defiance that broke his parents' hearts.

One evening during the after meeting, his mother came to Willie and sat down beside him. She looked at Willie and Willie looked at her. Brown eyes met brown eyes--both pairs luminous, steadfast.

''You are very unhappy," Mother said tenderly.

"Yes."

"You know the reason."

"Yes."

"Decide for Christ, son. Make it tonight. It's the only way you will be happy."

There was no answer.

"Jesus is calling you, dear."

Still no answer.

''Willie, what will you do? Mother must have a definite answer. Will you accept Jesus' offer of salvation or not? Will you give yourself to God?"

At this, the small creature whom it had been his mother's aim to train in full obedience, looked at her straight in the eyes with an obstinate shake of his head. "No!" He answered deliberately, "No!"

There was a sudden look of hurt unbelief in Mother' s eyes. She put her hands to her face. Her shoulders shook. Tears fell between her fingers to the sawdust at their feet. Willie knew what those tears meant, but he did not back up. His heart still said a decided "No."

What misery clouded his life from that night on, only God and the child knew, for he let on to no one. Willie was not a flagrantly naughty boy. In fact, people looked upon him as a remarkably good child. His naturally affectionate disposition kept him from manifesting selfishness or bad temper. Even his mother testified that he never told a lie, neither had he caused her five minutes of real anxiety. But he was without salvation. He did not want to be religious. He wanted his own way, in spite of parents, in spite of God.

About three months after the "No" in Cardiff, Willie went with his parents to an eight-weeks' campaign in Walsall. Here he was clutched in a new way with the awful truth that he was indeed a sinner. Misery haunted him day and night. He gave up his games and began to pray in a fervor of fear for help. But he would not say ''Yes'' in the matter about which he had said "No."

Then one day in a children's meeting held by his mother, a mysterious influence broke the rebellion in the little heart, and Willie was discovered squeezed in among those kneeling at the communion rail, confessing his sins. A young man came by. Most would have comforted the sobbing boy by speaking to him of God's love, but this unknown youth, led by the Spirit, instructed him with thoroughness and rare insight to confess the sins for which he sought forgiveness. He told him what a fearful thing it was to want one's own way--to go against the One who died for us. He showed him that pride was the sin that sank Satan into Hell. "It will send you there too," he said, and walked away.

Willie knew the man was right! His childish burdened heart was ready to break with shame and fear. What could he do? In his distress, he cried aloud.

It was not long before Mother knelt beside him, put her hand lovingly upon his head, prayed with him, and led him to cast himself upon his Savior with faith in His promise. He did so, and light came! His sins were gone! Jesus had made him one of His own!

Thus began for Bramwell Booth a life of walking with God which eventually included fifty-four years of service in the Salvation Army founded by his father, eighteen of those as its general.

[From the book Praying Parents Take Heart]

Cong-Sing's Bible

A True Missionary Story

Mee-Mee was a pupil in the "School of True Wisdom" in South China.

She was a bright, interesting girl, and was always very keen on the Scripture lesson, which she loved best of all. Some of the others said, "Mee-Mee will never come out topside in her examinations because she is more anxious to know her Bible than other subjects," but she always managed to do well all around.

However, when she secured first prize for Scripture, her face was so radiantly happy that her teacher said, "Well, Mee-Mee, you are evidently very pleased."

"My heart is ten parts joyful, Honorable One," she replied, "I wanted so much to excel in the Holy Book knowledge."

"That is wisdom, Mee-Mee. Store up God's Word in the cupboard of your mind, and then when needed, it will help you to be brave and strong."

Ms. Wilson dismissed her pupil with a smile. She knew that Mee-Mee was trying to follow Christ in her daily life and loved Him very much.

Sometime after, Mee-Mee was to be baptized, and she was allowed to choose her own new name which she must try to imitate afterward. She much wanted to be named Lu-teh (Ruth) or Mo-li-o (Mary), but at last she decided upon Cong-Sing, which means "True Heart."

"That is generally what a boy is called," said the matron. ''Why not be called 'Pure Love' or 'Gentle Virtue'? Such names are so suitable for Chinese girls."

But Mee-Mee had made her choice.

One day, some months after her baptism, a certain girl in the school, who disliked her for no reason, except that True Heart always kept the rules and set a good example, managed to take the girl's Bible and hide it in a Chinese charcoal brazier. These are small round brass bowls, fitted with a tight lid and pierced with many holes, and the girls use them in very cold weather for warming their hands and feet. The time had come for putting them away in the storeroom cupboard, so Cong-Sing's brazier would not be disturbed for months.

As soon as she discovered her loss, True Heart searched everywhere, but all in vain. The head girl over her dormitory also disliked Cong-Sing because she was a Christian, so the matron and Miss Wilson were told that Cong-Sing was untidy and careless about her things and could easily find the lost Bible if she chose. So the teachers were much perplexed.

The school watchdog at last solved the mystery of the lost Bible. In chasing a rat through the school cupboards, he overturned True Heart's brazier and its contents fell out on the floor.

With great joy, the girl seized her treasure, and the matron and Miss Wilson were convinced at once that a cruel trick had been played upon her.

True Heart never said a word, though she had been told who had caused her loss. Now that her beloved Bible was found, nothing else seemed to matter. She determined never to let it out of her sight again, and night by night, it was carefully placed under her pillow.

When the summer holidays drew near, the school broke up early, as traveling had become dangerous because of robbers on the move; True Heart's home was very distant, so she had to remain behind with the matron until somebody came to take her back.

One evening when it was getting dark, after "sunset rice," she was playing with Ah-Lee, the matron's little son, when a band of anti-Christian students and others rushed in through the school gate. They seized all the religious books on the classroom shelves, looking about for every Bible, Testament, and Scripture picture they could find, with which they started a big fire in the outside yard.

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"See! See! What a blaze of all this foreign doctrine and evil teaching! Not one trace of it shall be left tonight."

The matron and True Heart stood helpless, for the students numbered at least fifty strong young men and they were very determined.

True Heart had picked up her Bible from the kitchen table where she had put it just before beginning to play with Ah-Lee. Not knowing that she was holding it fast in her hands, she gazed spellbound as the fire flared up and revealed everything clearly.

Suddenly, a big, tall student, who was a leader of the others, caught sight of True Heart holding her precious Bible. He.rushed toward her and tried to wrench it from her. She faced him, her eyes flashing, her small body tense, determined to fight to the last, come what may.

"You must burn me first," she said in a firm, clear voice. "This book contains the Heavenly Father's words to me. Can I willingly let you burn such before the eyes of his child?" The student paused, astonished at the girl's brave attitude. Suddenly, for some unknown reason, his hands dropped, and True Heart, in a flash, rushed swiftly out of the back door.

The others were about to follow her, but the student said, "Let her be, she is only a foolish child. The Book cannot hurt her yet. She has no more brains than a baby cow."

So True Heart made her escape, for God blessed her and delivered. She had indeed shown herself worthy of her new name.

"Never, oh never, will I part with my precious Holy Book," said True Heart later to herself. "God will always help me, I know, to protect it, and it shall be my constant Companion all my life."

And this she is doing in far-away China today, and setting a solid example to follow in her steps.

[Published in "The Shining Paths," by Old Pass Tract Society, Shoals, Indiana 47581-9664]

One Thankful Little Boy

Frank ran down the street where the boys were playing. He wanted to enter their play and enjoy their fun. The boys were always glad to have Frank play with them, for he had a way about him that kept the lads good-natured. There are boys who can spoil any fun by their actions, but Frank added to the fun.

"I'm glad you came over," Fred told him. "Now we will have just that much more fun."

A few minutes later Fred's mother called to him. "Here are some warm cookies for the boys," she said, "I know they will find a place for them."

With whoops and yells, the boys raced for the porch, and eager hands carried the cookies from the pan to hungry mouths.

There were two cookies for each. Frank enjoyed his cookies along with the others. As soon as they swallowed the last crumb, they went back to their play.

The next Sunday Frank was up early to get ready for the Sunday School. The lesson was very interesting.

"Boys," the teacher said, "it is so easy to forget things which seem of small importance. We have just read how Jesus entered a certain village, and ten men who were lepers called to him, asking Jesus to have mercy on them. Seeing them, Jesus told them to go show themselves to the Jewish priest, and as they obeyed him, they were cleansed. Once they saw they were healed, they turned back and thanked Jesus—".

"No," Frank interrupted, "only one of them thanked Jesus."

''And who was he?" The teacher asked.

''A Samaritan," Frank replied.

''And nine of them went on their wa,y without thanking Christ at all," the teacher went on with her story. ''What do you think of those men?"

"They were very ungrateful," Frank said, "they should have been thankful enough to say something about it."

''You are right. Gratitude is something all should have, but with many folks, it is something they lack. We don't find time to thank folks for the things they do for us. We are just like the nine lepers. We take what others do for tis and say nothing about it."

"Do we thank God for what He has done for us? The food we eat, the air we breathe, the blessings He gives, the salvation we have--are we daily thanking Him for those things?"

Frank thought about those things as he walked slowly home. Hereafter, he would try to be more careful about thanking people. At just that moment, he looked down the street and saw Fred's mother going home from church. Those cookies! That was the first thought. How good they had been. And then he felt ashamed of himself, for he had eaten them and never thanked the lady for them! Running as hard as he could, he reached Fred's house just as Fred's mother was going up the step.

"Hello, Frank," she said in a kindly voice, "why have you been running?"

"To thank you for those cookies you gave us yesterday," he replied. "They were good, and I liked them very much. I know the other boys liked them as much as I did."

"I'm glad they did," she replied. "I was fearful they didn't like them, for you are the only one to thank me."

Boys and girls, let us thank God for Jesus Christ and all you have through him, and don't forget to thank your parents, friends, and relatives for the things they do for you, and the things they give you.

[From a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, Inc., Randleman, North Carolina, 27317. Used by permission.]

Wi-Yu

By Mrs. H. S. Caswell-Broad

This simple, true story drawn from the personal experience of the writer of the story, while a missionary to the Iroquois Indians, has been greatly used in winning souls to Christ. 40,000 copies in the English language, besides translations into the Spanish and French, have resulted in the conversion of thousands of adults and children

Wi-Yu's father and mother were pagans. She never heard a word about Jesus Christ till she came to the asylum. One day Wi-Yu walked up to me and said, "I want to give myself away to you." I was much surprised, but looked into the little girl's eyes, and said, ''Why does Wi\- Yu wish to give herself to me?"

"Because," she said simply, "I love you." After this they called Wi-Yu my little girl.

One day, while Wi-Yu sat by me, learning how to hem a pocket handkerchief neatly, I asked her if she loved Jesus, of whom I had been talking to her. "No," she said, "I do not, but want to. I want to be a Christian, but I'm too little."

"But Jesus says, 'Suffer the little children to come unto me.' "

"I don't know how to go to him; I don't know what to do," said she.

''Wi-Yu," said I, "you must give yourself away to Him."

She looked at me in surprise..

"How can I do that?" She exclaimed.

''You did you give yourself to me?"

"I came to you and asked you to take me because I loved you."

''Why do you love me, dear?"

She hesitated a moment, and then answered; "I think it must be because you loved me."

''Yes, Wi-Yu, that is just the reason. Now, Jesus has been loving you all the time, while you have been caring the least for him."

''Would Jesus be willing for me to give myself away to Him just as I did to you?"

"Certainly, my dear child; that is exactly what he wants you to do. He wants all of you, too."

After some more quiet thinking Wi-Yu knelt by my side. "My Jesus, I give myself to you. I give my hands, my feet, my mouth, my tongue, and my heart. I give you all of myself. Please take me, dear Jesus."

She arose and said, "Do you think He heard me?"

"I am sure of it," said I, and you will find His promise in your little Testament." Together we found these precious words in her Indian Testament; ''Anyone that comes unto me, I will not thrust aside." Believing that Jesus meant just what He said, she from that moment knew that she was his own dear saved child.

A few days after, I said to her, ''Wi-Yu, after you had given yourself to me, did you try any harder to please me?"

"Oh, yes!" said she with a bright face, "I tried to please you in everything, even in very little things."

''Are you willing to do anything to please Jesus?"

"I think I am," she answered.

"Will you tell the other girls that you are now trying to live a Christian life?"

She hung her head and blushed. "I am ashamed to tell them," she said.

''Were you ashamed to tell them you had given yourself to me?"

"Oh, no indeed!"

''And yet, my Wi-Yu, you are ashamed of Jesus, your most precious friend, who loves you so much and who saved you from your sin. Oh, Wi-Yu! Wi-Yu! Let us ask him now to forgive you and help you to please him, even in this."

We knelt, and Wi-Yu said, with a voice choking with sobs: "My own dear Jesus, please forgive me for being ashamed and afraid, and help me to tell them all that I have given myself away to you."

When she arose, she said, "I can tell them now! I will tell everybody."

On the way to find her schoolmates, she met a minister who was visiting the Indians. Though he was a stranger, she looked up at him and mustering up all her courage, she said, "I have given myself away to Jesus."

He was much surprised and touched, as he thought of his daughter at home who knew so much more about Jesus than this Indian girl and had not begun to love him. He put his arm around the little timid Wi-Yu and said some very kind and helpful things to her. After this, she found it easier to tell them all, and she even gained courage to write to her stern pagan father, although she was quite sure that he would be angry with her.

Here is a copy of her letter:

"My dear father: I have given myself away to Jesus, and I'm not ashamed nor afraid to tell it."

Her father was alone when this message reached him, and nobody knows what he thought. But the very next Sabbath, he walked several miles to the mission church and heard the missionary preach about the same Jesus to whom his little daughter had given herself. After that he kept coming until he, too, became a Christian.

[Taken from a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, Randleman, North Carolina, 27317. Used by permission.]

Daddy, I Saw an Angel Today

By Rev. James Keaton

I shall never forget when all of our nine children were at home\--and we do have nine! I sometimes tell them that we have four boys, and each one of them has five sisters.

It was a Saturday morning. We were in the family room after breakfast. Everyone had things to do that day, so we knelt to pray before we hurried off to take care of things. I don't know why I do, but I remember distinctly the prayer I prayed that morning as I called each of the children by name and asked God to keep His hand upon them. I said, "Lord, keep your hand on Jimmy today, and keep your hand upon Sandy. And Lord, keep your hand on Vicky and upon Jeff. And Lord, keep your hand on Kimberly and upon Becky, upon Troy, Lord, and keep your hand upon little Brian and do keep your hand on little Julia." The prayer was over.

I rounded up the four boys and said, "Come on, you rascals, it is hair cutting day." We got in the car and headed to town. Our youngest one was just a preschooler. We sat in the barber shop as the boys got their haircuts first and Dad was last, and as I was getting the haircut, they were whispering amongst themselves. They weren't misbehaving, just whispering and giggling among themselves like children will. I didn't know they were cooking up a little scheme. Our car was parked across the Boulevard, the busy Boulevard in front of the barber shop.

When we finished and paid the barber, I started out the door and the boys rushed out in front of me while I was trying to make sure the door was closed and then I realized what had happened. The boys had made a little deal among themselves that they were going to see who would get to the car first. The loser was some kind of rascal or something. I don't know, but they all sprang from the sidewalk onto the busy street. The three older ones had presence of mind to see the speeding car coming. The youngest one, the only thing that he had on his mind was he was ahead of his brothers one time and nothing would stop him now! I turned and in my peripheral vision I saw the car speeding, calculated instantly, and I knew there could not be a miss. That car was going to hit my child. "Did you pray?" you might ask. I doubt it. I just kind of hollered or screamed, or whatever parents do at that time. But, nonetheless, the instant of impact came. I saw my boy go up in the air, spin around, and then was running back to me as fast as he was running the other way. The car sped on. I caught him high in my arms. I scolded him and loved him all at the same time. I made sure that he wasn't hurt. His sleeve had hit the fender. His foot had kicked a tire, but he was unhurt. I carried him to the car. He was quiet the rest of the day--a bit unusual.

I was preaching a revival at that time and that evening I loaded the entire family in the station wagon. They were going with me. There was a beautiful sunset and everyone was lost in his own thoughts. It was quiet in the car, and the little fellow stood right behind me. Seat belts weren't in vogue back then. He leaned over my shoulder and whispered in my ear, "Daddy, I saw an angel today." I wasn't thinking about that scene. I said, "Tell me, when did you see an angel today?"

He said, "Daddy, when I ran out in the street, an angel picked me up and turned me around and started me running back to you."

It was a simple prayer that morning, "Lord, keep your hand on this child." Why don't we pray it more often?

"Lord, keep your hand on my wtfe, my husband, the children, my loved ones, the car, the church, our leaders .... "

[From the book God Was There by Clyde and Margaret Gouge, 1617 Independence Drive, Jefferson City, Mo. 65109. Used by permission.]

A Little Girl's Prayer

By Esther Ruth Hobbs

In the summer of 1982, at six years of age, a miracle took place in my life, not because I had great faith, but because my parents taught me to trust in the faithful God who "orders our every step."

Another principle my parents taught me was to "delight myself in the Lord," and if I did, "He would give me the desire of my heart." As soon as I was able to understand this verse, I applied it, and I found that it really worked!

Well, not long before the summer of '82, my brother, Nathan, had taught me to ride a bicycle without training wheels, and oh, what fun it was! I could make sharp turns without falling off the bike! I could also go about half as fast as my brothers now I had only two wheels instead of four; however, I had a slight difficulty. My first bicycle was getting a little small, and our family didn't always have the funds to go and just buy a brand-new bicycle. Besides, my parents saw in this an excellent opportunity for character training in their daughter's youth! So I began praying in earnest that if it was God's will, to supply a big, pink bicycle for me. My memory can't recall exactly how long I prayed for this particular bicycle; however, I know it couldn't have been more than three weeks or so, and it was about this time that our family went to visit our grandparents in Ohio.

Now during this time was my birthday, and little did I know that there was a surprise awaiting me out in my grandparents' church van. However, I soon found out. After finishing supper, my family asked me to come outside for the purpose of showing me something. So we all walked out to the van. As they opened the doors, I didn't really know what they were showing me, till finally, my father lifted something out and on the ground. It was the most beautiful, pink bicycle I think my childhood eyes had ever seen! It seemed so big and sturdy, yet it was perfect for my height! It was in perfect riding condition, and I was able to go fast on it! A girl in my grandparents' church outgrew it and gave it to them for me. The faithful God my parents had taught me to trust in brought out of the results of a simple trust in his faithfulness! But why wasn't the color of the bike red or purple instead of pink? Well, Psalm 37 gives a clear answer: "The steps of a good man are directed and established by the Lord when he delights in his way (and he busies himself with his every step.)"

Well, not too many years after this, in 1986, another miracle took place, only this time, I was between the ages of 8 and 9, and what I was praying about had nothing to do with a need, it was simply a desire. However, if we delight ourselves in Him, He's promised to give us even the desires of our hearts. The desire was to have a dollhouse with real-looking furniture. We had looked at different shops, and it was always fun. However, the prices always seemed out of our range for some reason. So, once again, the most appropriate course of action came to mind: talk to the Heavenly Father. This time I just kept it a secret between God, Mama, and myself. I enjoyed watching God operate His business with such accurate timing according to His will, arid not one single detail was lacking. So for one solid week, every day, I would get down beside my bed and talk to my Heavenly Father about a doll house.

Well, as the week went by, my anticipation grew and before I knew it, the week was ended. However, on the Saturday of that special week, our family went over to a friend's home. She had given a big garage sale before her move to Florida. It was fairly late in the evening when we arrived to look over the different items. While my parents stayed inside the beautiful home to chat with our friend for a bit, my brothers and I went out to the large garage to look at some of the items left. I walked slowly from one table to the next until I came to a Ping-Pong table which was curiously set up on end from ceiling to floor. It was also on wheels, so I gently pushed it away from the dark wall\--my curiosity taking over--to find a roof which appeared to be the top of a large house that came up to my chin when I stood up! When I realized what it was, I joyfully "sounded the alarm" as I dashed inside to find my parents and give them the wonderful news! I was overjoyed as I gently pulled my parents out to the garage to show them the thrilling find! As my father talked with our friend concerning the price and such, my mother and I rejoiced exceedingly! God had kept His promises and had performed another miracle right before my young eyes!

As we put the sturdy house into our station wagon that night, I learned that we had paid only fifteen dollars instead of fifty dollars to two hundred dollars! Again, God's way proved to not only be the most economical, but also the most trustworthy, carefree plan\--simply because I had first of all learned to be "content with whatsoever state I was in," dollhouse or no dollhouse. Secondly, my parents had taught me to "roll all my works on Him; committing and trusting them wholly to Him" like Proverbs instructs us, and the joy there is in watching our Heavenly Father work out the detail is always so exciting! It doesn't have to stop when we grow older; there is ever more reason for us as followers of the Creator of the universe to give the world some living examples of genuine trust in an ever faithful God who can do whatever He has to do to perform a miracle on behalf of His children.

[Taken from the book God Was There by Clyde and Margaret Gouge. 1617 Independence Drive, Jefferson City, Mo., 65109. Used by permission.]

Links in the Chain

By L. L. Wightman

Meade Powell, a young boy of six years, often begged to accompany his father to the woods. His father was a woodcutter, and Meade wished to see those great tall trees crash to the earth. He had often heard his father speak of those forest giants, and he wondered how it is possible for a man to fell one of those giant trees.

The father always refused permission to accompany him because of the danger, not from falling trees, but from wandering away in the dense forest. He knew the nature of a boy of this age and felt that he would not have time to watch him every moment. Therefore, Meade stayed at home.

On this particular morning, Meade's mother was unexpectedly called from home to the assistance of a neighbor. Unable to take the boy with her, she was compelled to put him into his father's care.

"He will have to go with you this morning," she told Meade's father. "I know it will make it harder for you, but there seems to be no other way. He will be obedient and do as you say."

The boy promised absolute obedience and was happy that his long-desired wish had come true. Seated at the foot of a huge forest tree, he watched his father at work. He saw the long swing of the ax and the flying chips as the ax ate into the wood with dull blows. As the tree began to creak and groan, the father stopped for a moment to place Meade in a safe place."You stand right here," he commanded the boy, "and you can see the big tree fall."

Meade obeyed. He saw his father chop here and there so that the tree might fall exactly where he wanted it to. The tree shuddered, swayed, and fell. As it fell, one exceptionally long branch caught in another tree and swung the falling tree in another direction. Meade saw it coming directly toward him and ran to escape it, but his little feet were not fast enough. He heard his father's hoarse yell of alarm before he was thrown to the ground beneath the sweeping branches. Then consciousness left him.

With frantic haste, the father worked to free the boy from beneath the tree, not knowing whether he was alive or dead. As the last branch which held him was severed, he snatched Meade to his bosom, his eyes filled with a wild look of anguish. Finding the, child breathing faintly, he ran across the fields, carrying him to the doctor.

Several anxious days went by while the parents awaited the result of this terrible accident. Then came the doctor's verdict.

"He will live, but he will always be crippled. His back is injured, and he will never walk erectly."

The years rolled by\--as the years have a way of doing--and Meade grew into young manhood. With body bent and twisted, and legs that needed the aid of crutches, he viewed life from a different angle than a perfect body would have permitted. When he saw others on the athletic field, he realized that he was forever barred from their contests. Others entered the race of life with well-equipped bodies, but he must always labor under a handicap. Whenever he made his laborious way around the streets, he was the object of pity and sympathy.

His only solace was his communion with God. Somehow, his crippled condition made God dearer to him. While others extended sympathy and aid, they could not know the deep secrets and longings of his heart. But God knew. Early in his childhood years, he had committed his life into the hands of his Savior, finding solace and contentment there as the years came and went. What could he do? If he had his strength, he could carry the gospel across the sea, but his desire could never be fulfilled.

Among Meade's acquaintances was one particular friend, a boy about his own age by the name of Harold Crane. Harold, a staunch Christian, spent much time with Meade, and, many times, they had discussed the deeper truths of life. He knew the missionary longing of the crippled boy and sympathized deeply with him in his disappointment. Under the influence of Meade's deeper spiritual life, Harold had been led to give his life in service for the Master.

On the day after he arrived home from his graduation from the seminary, Harold met Meade on the corner of a business block.

"Well, Meade, I'm waiting for marching orders," Harold said, "I don't know yet where the Lord wants me."

"If I had the power, this is the place I would enter," said Meade, taking a map from his pocket and pointing to a special place in Africa. "For some reason that place has been on my heart lately. LOOK OUT!"

With a shout, Meade shoved Harold to one side, and threw up his arms for protection. Too late! The wind had torn loose a sign from high up on the side of the building and hurled it to the street. Meade saw it just in time to save Harold, but received the blow himself. Kind hands picked up the unconscious form from the street and rushed him to the hospital. In his hand was the tightly-grasped map of Africa. Harold loosened the clenched fingers and stuck the map in his pocket.

For hours, the physicians worked over the crushed youth, but their efforts failed. He rallied just enough to keep calling out, "There, right there. Go there." Late in the day, with just 'a little group permitted at his bedside, his spirit departed to be with his Master.

Harold, looking at the map a week later, saw a spot of blood where Meade had indicated the harvest field that was on his heart.

"I'm going there," said Harold. "God's hand is in this. Meade could not go, but I can go in his place. Except for his action, I would be dead. He saved my life but lost his own. I believe it is God's will for me to carry out the desire which was denied him. Yes, Lord, I'll go."

Five years passed by. Out there in central Africa, a man stood out in front of the mission building reading a sign over the door.

"Meade Powell's Mission."

As his eyes fell upon this sign, which he had read a multitude of times, he turned to the group of natives. They knew the story. Many had received Christ through the preaching of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and wonderful opportunities for a greater harvest were present on every hand.

"Friends and brothers," Harold said to the natives who had crowded around him, "the human link which God used to send me here was that noble youth, Meade Powell. Dare any man say that Meade's life was useless? No person's life is useless when that life is committed into the hands of God. May I be as willing to sacrifice my life for God as Meade was to give his life for my protection. But greater beyond comparison was the death of Jesus Christ for me that I might have eternal life."

[A true account printed in 'The Youth Compass, "published by Herald and Banner press, Box 40600, Overland Park, Kansas, 66204.]

Crippled Tom

In one of the deplorably miserable East London homes, in a dark, wretched room at the top of the house, lay a crippled boy, greatly neglected and comparatively unknown. When quite young, his parents had died, leaving him to the mercy of an aged relative, whom he called "Granny."

Born crippled, he had always been a sufferer; but as long as he was able, he had swept the crossing on his crutches, or gone on short errands to earn a few pence. But soon after his parents' death, the boy had to take his bed. Very ungraciously, the old woman allowed him to occupy the top room in the house, which room he never left again.

His mother had taught him to read and write, and sometimes, on a snowy night, the lad had crept into the mission hall merely for the sake of getting warm. Numb, with cold and weary in body, he took little heed of what he had heard on those nights. However, lying alone day after day, there came into his mind the memory of it, and by degrees he was possessed with a great longing to know more about the things of God and to have a Bible of his own. He knew that it is from the Bible that the speakers had gathered their knowledge. So, summing up courage, he one day consulted Granny about it. His only encouragement was an ironical laugh. Bibles weren't in her line! "What did a lad like him want with a Bible?" So the matter was dropped for a while, but the lad's desire to possess one did not grow less.

One day up the creaking stairs came noisy, boisterous Jack Lee, the only friend the crippled lad had in the world. "Hurrah! Hurrah! Got a new box. Off North tomorrow! Come to say goodbye, Tom," he cried, all excited, seating himself on the bed, and wiping the perspiration from his brow. "But I've got a real beauty present for you, my lad," taking from his pocket something wrapped in a greasy bit of brown paper.

Tom raised himself on his elbows, not at all gladdened by the news he had heard. "A bright new shilling for you, Tom. And you're not to spend it till yer wants suffin' real particular."

"Oh, Jack, you are good, but 1 want something now very, very particular."

''You do? What is it?"

"1 want a Bible."

''A Bible! Well I never! Whoever heard of a poor lad spending all that on a Bible, when 1 had to scrape months and months to save in coppers."

"Don't be angry, dear Jack," cried the crippled boy; "you're going away, and 1 shall be lonelier than ever, and oh, 1 do so want a Bible. Please get it, Jack--now--this very evening at Fisher's, before the shop closes. Granny never would; she'd spend it in gin, if I let it into her hands."

"What can yer want with a Bible, Tom? Only scholars understand them there things," he answered rather crossly.

"Maybe so, Jack, but I'm hankering after one, for I must find out whether them there folks in the mission hall you and I sometimes used to go to, told true about someone they called Jesus. Let it be your parting gift, Jack, and you will make me so glad."

''Very well, lad, then I'll go, but I know naught of Bible buyin'."

"Fisher has' em at a shilling, for I saw' em marked in the window when I used to go by. Quick, Jack, or the shop will be closed."

Jack complied very ungraciously and descended the stairs less rapidly that he had mounted them. But he got over his disappointment before he returned with a beautiful shilling Bible. "Fisher says I couldn't leave you a better friend, Tom, and he declares the shilling couldn't be 'vested better'; and says he, 'it may be worth a thousand pounds to the lad;' so 'pears there's suffin we ought to know about.' "

Tom's joy and gratitude were unbounded. "I know it, Jack, I know it!" hugging the book to his breast. "I'm happy now. Oh, how kind you were to save that shilling!"

The lads never met again; but if the honest errand boy could only have known what a precious treasure that Holy book became to his crippled friend, he would have been amply rewarded for the sacrifice he had made to save the shilling. After a month's hard reading, Crippled Tom knew more about the Bible than many who professed to study it for twenty years. He learned the way of salvation, his only teacher being the Holy Spirit; he learned also that obedience to God's will meant helping to save others.

"Don't do to keep all this blessed news to myself," he said; so he thought and thought until, at last, a simple but very beautiful work was decided on for the master. His bed stood close by the window sill, which was low, and somehow he got a pencil and paper and wrote out different texts and then dropped them into the noisy street below, directed: "To the passer-by\--please read."

He hoped that, by this means, someone might hear of Jesus and His salvation. This service of love, faithfully rendered, went on for some weeks, when, one evening, he heard a strange footstep, and immediately afterwards appeared a tall, well-dressed gentlemen who entered the room and took his seat by the lad's bedside.

"So you are the lad who drops texts from the window, are you?" he asked kindly. ''Yes,'' said Tom, brightening up. "Have yer heard someone has got hold of one?"

"Plenty, lad, plenty! Would you believe it if I told you that I picked up one last evening, and God blessed it to my soul? '

"I can believe in God's Word doing anything, sir," said the lad, humbly.

''And I am come," said the gentleman, "to thank you personally."

"Not me, sir! I only does the writin', He does the blessin'."

''And you are happy in this work for Christ?" said the visitor.

"Couldn't be happier, sir. I don't think nothing of the pain in my back, for shan't I be glad when I see Him, to tell Him that as soon as I knowed about Him, I did all I could to serve Him? I suppose you get lots of chances, don't yer, sir?"

''Ah, lad, but I have neglected them; but, God helping me, I mean to begin afresh. At home in the country I have a sick boy dying. I had come to town on pressing business. When I kissed him good-bye, he said, 'Father, I wish I had done some works for Jesus. I cannot bear to meet Him empty-handed.' The words stuck to me all day long, and the next day, too, until evening when I was passing down the streets. Your little paper fell on my hat, I opened it and read, "I must work the works of Him that sent me, while it is day; the night cometh, when no man can work." It seemed like a command from heaven. It startled me and brought me to my knees that night, and I could not sleep until I could sing: 'Oh, the cleansing blood has reached me! Glory, glory to the Lamb!'

"I have professed to be a Christian for twenty-two years, my lad. When I made inquiries and found out who dropped those texts into the street and why it was done, it so shamed me and humbled my heart that I determined to go home and work for the same Master that you are serving so faithfully."

Tears of joy were rolling down the lad's face. "It's too much, Sir," he said, "altogether too much."

"Tell me how you managed to get the paper to start it, my lad."

"That weren't hard, sir. I jest had a talk with Granny and offered to give up my ha'porth of milk she gives me most days, if she would buy me paper instead. You know, Sir, I can't last long. The parish doctor says a few months of cold weather may finish me off, and a drop of milk ain't much to give up for my Blessed Jesus. Are people happy as has lots to give him, Sir?"

The visitor sighed a deep sigh. ''Ah, lad, you are a great deal happier in this wretched room, making sacrifices for Jesus, than thousands who profess to belong to Him, and have time, talents, and money, and do little or nothing for Him."

"They don't know Him, Sir. Knowin' is lovin', and lovin' is doin'. It ain't love without."

''You are right, Tom. But now about yourself. I must begin by making your life brighter. How would like to end your days in one of these homes for crippled lads, where you would see the trees and flowers, and hear the birds sing? I could get you into one, not far from my home, if you liked, Tom."

The weary lad looked wistfully into the man's kindly face, and after a few moments' silence, answered, "Thank'ee, sir; I've heard tell of 'em before, but I ain't anxious to die easy when He died hard. I might get taken up with them things a bit too much, and I'd rather be a-lookin' at Him, and carrying on this here work till He comes to fetch me. Plenty of joy for a boy like me to have a mansion with him up there through eternity." The visitor felt more reproved than ever.

"Very well, my lad; then I will see that you have proper food and all the paper you need while you live. I will settle it all with one of the Bible women. Now, before I go, I want you to pray aloud for me," and as he made the request, the strong man knelt down by the dying boy's bedside, scarcely suppressing a sob as he covered his face with his hands. The lad trembled at having to do such a thing, but when he saw that bowed form and heard that self-stifled sob, he knew he ought to comply with the request.

There was a seraphic light on the pale face, as he said in tone of the deepest reverence: "Lord Jesus, I know You're a-Iistenin', and I'm much obliged to you for sendin' this friend here to cheer me in my work. Now, Lord Jesus, he's a bit troubled about not having worked for Thee enough in the past days. Will you help him to see to it that there's nothing left undone in the coming days, and please, Lord, make him go straight away and tell them other rich men that they don't know Thee if they aren't a-workin' for Thee. And I'm grateful to you, Jesus, for all the paper and food that's a-comin' to me while I live. Maybe I'll hold out the bit longer to write these texts for Thee. Now, Lord Jesus, please bless this kind friend. I ask this for Thy name's sake."

''Amen,'' said the deep-toned voice.

Then the gentleman arose and said farewell. Before leaving London, he made every arrangement for the lad to be cared for, and then, with a gladder heart, he went back to his beautiful country home and lived for Christ. As soon as he could, he built a mission hall on his own grounds and preached Jesus to the villagers. When he confessed his sin of negligence toward them, and told them of his second conversion through the crippled boy and his text, many of them were led to seek Jesus.

News of the dying lad reached them from time to time through the Bible woman, but it was not till winter set in and the snow had fallen and covered the earth with its crystal whiteness, that they heard that the dear lad had gone to be with Jesus. The same post brought a parcel which contained Tom's much-prized and much-used Bible. What a precious relic was that marked Bible in that beautiful home! For when the crippled boy's friend lent it to the youngest son to read, the careful marking, the short simple prayers written on the fly-leaf, written about a week before his death, that "this Holy Book may be as great a friend to someone else as it had been to me," made such a deep impression on the youth that he gave himself to the Lord, and later on to mission work in foreign fields, and out in Central Africa he has shown that worn Bible to many a native Christian, when telling them about Crippled Tom and his texts.

[From a tract published by Old Paths Tract Society, Inc., Shoals, Ind. 47581. Used by permission.]

My Unforgettable Missionary Dollar

Submitted by Ruth Strahm Hoien, as told by Clifford A. Hoien

Way back in 1920, over seventy years ago, my first missionary dollar started on its journey to Russia. For three reasons I remember that dollar.

First, a dollar was a lot of money in those days. It would buy many more groceries than today\--more clothes\--more candy and toys!

Now my missionary gift was not a mere green piece of paper but a big round silver dollar. When you had one in your pocket ,you could feel the weight.

Yes, a dollar was a lot of money, especially to a ten-year-old Dakota farm boy with few opportunities to earn spending money and no regular allowance. Farmers did not have weekly paydays. Their paydays came only two or three times a year when they sold their harvested wheat or sent some cattle to market. At such times, Father might give us children two or three dollars. One time, Grandfather was driving some cattle to the rail yard. He asked me to help, so my pony and I joined the six-mile drive. I was happy when he gave me a fifty-cent piece.

Since I had few dollars, I did not ordinarily spend a whole dollar at once. Even five or ten cents seemed like a big expenditure.

But in a missionary meeting held in my grandfather's home, I heard about a man who was risking his life to preach the Gospel in Communist Russia. I had given my heart to Jesus and I felt God wanted me to help. A whole dollar did not look too big to put into that offering.

The second reason for remembering that dollar is what happened two or three days later.

About a half mile from home, I was walking along the country road and there in the thick dust, not quite hidden, lay a big round dollar! As I picked it up and blew off the dust it seemed to me that God was now giving me the dollar just as I had, a few days before, given one to Him. For doesn't the Bible say, "Give, and it shall be given unto you?" (Luke 6:38a) How good it was to feel that God was pleased!

The third and best reason for remembering that first missionary dollar came to light some thirty years later.

I was now grown, a preacher with a family of my own, attending a convention. The outstanding speaker was a Mrs. Jennie Gordeuk, an immigrant from Russia. She told of the persecutions of her Christian family in the Communist Soviet Union. The children were in godless schools where the teachers constantly insisted that there is no God and that they must not listen to their parents if they told them to believe in Jesus.

The burden of her parents was to leave Russia and get their children away from that terrible influence. But cruel Joseph Stalin was not allowing any Russian Christians to leave. The situation appeared hopeless.

The family did not give up. Suddenly, in answer to their desperate prayers, God caused Stalin to relent and give them an exit permit.

When I had a chance to speak to Mrs. Gordeuk I had a question for her: "How did your mother and father become Christians?"

"It was through the ministry of Missionary Fetler," was her reply. That was the name of the man for whose support I had given my dollar!

It was worth many, many times what I had given as a boy, to learn that I had so direct a part in the salvation of these dear people. Now you know why I remember with great joy the first dollar I gave to missions.

I realize that often we will have to wait longer than I did in that instance to learn the results of our giving. But the Lord will help us to wait and pray with faith that someday we may rejoice around the throne of glory with souls we have had a part in winning through our missionary giving.

Memories of Clifford A. Hoien, written at age 82 in a letter to grandson John Phillip Brickman. The missionary service where Clifford as a young boy heard about the brave Russian missionary was held in Grandpa Soren Anderson s home because there was no church near. Grandpa Anderson was one of the pioneers in Dakota Territory, before South Dakota became a state.

Brother Hoien became a pastor in Allegheny Conference in 1938 and was ordained an elder in 1941. He is now living in Crockett, Kentucky, still actively serving the Lord.

Her Most Unforgettable Thanksgiving

By Mary Murphy Kibler

It was 1935, and our country was in the midst of the Great Depression. My mother was then eleven years old, one of seven children, ranging from one to thirteen.

My grandfather, previously employed at the local limestone mining company, had been laid off with the rest of the workers soon after the depression began. To feed his family he took odd jobs whenever available. Hunting and fishing, two sports in which he had engaged for leisure, now became necessary for survival.

The family planted a garden each spring, which supplied food for canning. However, this particular year had brought drought\--and a shortage of food to can.

Summer had turned into autumn. With each passing day my grandfather would seek work, hoping that the mining company would soon open.

It was late November when my grandmother's test of faith occurred. The last of the canned gods had been used. All the staple items in the cupboard were gone. For breakfast that morning, the children had eaten pancakes from the last bit of flour and shortening. My grandfather, with the last piece of homemade bread, and an apple in his pocket, set off with his dog to hunt for supper. Time passed too quickly that morning. At noon my Aunt Emma approached my grandmother, saying, "Mother, what are we going to do? We don't have anything left. There's not a bite of anything in the house."

"I know," she replied, "and there's no money either, But I believe that God will provide something. I want all of you to gather around me on your knees. We're going to pray and ask God to help us."

She led the children in prayer. When she finished, she asked her son, William, to bring her Bible, and turned to Psalm 37: "The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord; and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not utterly be cast down; for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand. I have been young, and now I am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread."

"God will not forsake us," she said, "Let us thank Him for taking care of us and for all that He has given us." With bowed head and closed eyes, she led her children in prayer again. While they were still praying, someone knocked loudly at the door. It startled the baby, and he began to cry. My grandmother cautiously went to the door.

There stood a young man she had never seen before. He looked very pleasant and was dressed neatly and modestly.

"Mrs. Henry?"

"Yes."

"I was told you have need of this, and was sent here to deliver it to you," he said, handing her a white envelope. It contained $50, quite a substantial amount for those days. Surprised, when she opened the envelope, my grandmother looked up. The stranger had gone. So she sent her son, William, running down the hill to ask the man to come back. She wanted to thank him, and, to satisfy her curiosity, she wanted to ask his name and from where he had come.

William returned and said, "Mother, there is no man on the road. I've looked up and down, and there is no one there. I don't know where he could have gone!"

"Where do you suppose he came from, and why did he give us that money?" he added.

"Because God knew we needed it," she answered. "I believe, William, that truly that man was an angel sent to us from God, because we were in need."

She pressed her son's hand in her own and turned back toward the house, walking slowly with tears streaming down her face. To her children, all standing in the yard, she said, "Let's get ready to go into town. God wants us to have supper tonight."

That $50 provided the family with enough food to last throughout the winter, and, by spring, my grandfather was called back to his old job.

My mother told me this story when I was a little girl. I have told it to my own children, and I hope they will tell their children how a simple faith brought a messenger from God!

[From a tract by Pilgrim Tract Society, Inc. Randleman, N.C., 27317. Used by permission.]

Only a Boy

An old minister was chided because he had only one person added to his church in a year, and "he is only a boy," he was told.

The next time the old minister went to his pulpit, he felt grieved and heavy-hearted. After he preached his sermon and dismissed the service, he lingered after the rest were gone, for he felt like he wanted to be alone.

But another tarried, "only a boy." He watched the trembling old man. His heart was filled with loving sympathy. He walked up to the minister and laid his hand on him.

''Well, son?" said the minister.

"Do you think that if I were willing to work hard for an education I could ever become a preacher?"

''A preacher?" There was a long pause. Tears filled the eyes of the old minister. At length he said, "This heals the ache of my heart. I see the Divine hand now. May God bless you, my boy. Yes, I think you will become a preacher."

Years afterward, an aged missionary returned to London from Africa. His name was spoken with reverence. When he went into a meeting place, people arose; when he spoke in public, there was a deep silence. He had brought under the influence of the gospel the most savage of African chiefs; had given the translated Bible to strange tribes, and had brought honor to the missionary cause. It was Robert Moffat, who as "only a boy" had been won by the labors of the old minister.

And there is something else traceable to the influence of him who was "only a boy." When on a visit to England, Robert Moffat was telling about the dark land of Africa. Among those who listened to his stories of the wonders and needs of that continent was a sturdy young Scot. He was studying medicine and had decided to give his life to the service of God. But just where and how he could make himself of the most use, he was not sure. He had planned to go to China as a missionary, but was prevented by the opium wars.

As he listened to Dr. Moffat, he heard him say, "There is a vast plain to the north where I have sometimes seen, in the morning sun, the smoke of a thousand villages where no missionary has ever been."

"The smoke of a thousand villages." The young Scotsman was deeply impressed with these words. Here was something worthwhile for him to do--something hard and heroic. He longed to go where no missionary had ever been, to give himself in service that no one else would attempt. Filled with his new vision, he went to Dr. Moffat and asked, "Would I do for Africa?" The man was David Livingston. That day, he made his life's decision for missionary work in Africa.

Children, when you're doing work for Jesus, never be discouraged when you think your work is in vain. Maybe God will help you to help "only a boy" who may turn out to be another great soul-winner for Jesus.

-Author

A Two-Year-Old Touched By Jesus

By Marilyn Browning

When our son, Ron, was two years old, he was severely burned with third-degree burns.

After weeks of concentrated medical attention, we were told by our Christian doctor that the burn had not scabbed over, and there was nothing more he could do; unless the Lord saw fit to touch and heal Ron, he would not live very long.

For the next two days, our little son was unable to sleep because of the intense pain he was suffering. When he tried to eat, the food wouldn't stay down. Ron was a very sick child.

Sunday evening, we placed him on the couch in our living room, hoping he would be able to rest. I had a feeling that unless God touched him that evening, our baby wouldn't live through the night.

His dad knelt by his couch and said, "Let's pray for him right now."

"Yes, let's do, Daddy," cried Kathy, Ron's four-year-old sister.

I completed the family circle around the couch as I stood beside my husband. I ordinarily kneel to pray, but at that moment I had a feeling I was to stand.

As we were praying, I suddenly felt the presence of someone standing just inside our living room door. I turned and looked, but I didn't see anyone. I closed my eyes, and I saw (with closed eyes) Jesus standing just inside the door. He had a look of love and compassion as He slowly but purposefully walked toward us, stopping behind me. His voice was so kind when He spoke these words: "Marilyn, may I have your son?"

For a moment, I felt I couldn't speak or breathe, for I loved my little son so dearly. As I regained my composure, I said, 'eyes, Lord, You may have Ron, if that is Your will."

I stepped aside and Jesus stepped to the place where I had been standing. As I watched, He reached out His hand toward little Ron. I looked away as He placed His hand upon my baby, and then Jesus was gone. I fully expected to see Ron's lifeless body when I looked at him again, but no! Ron was not dead. He was sleeping very soundly. For twenty-three hours, he continued to sleep deeply. After this, he awakened just long enough to ask for a glass of milk. (During the twenty-three hours he had slept, I had observed that a scab had formed over the entire burned area.) When Ron had finished drinking his milk, he again went into a deep sleep, this time sleeping for eighteen straight hours. When Ron awoke, he came to me saying, "Mommie, I'm hungry!" He wanted a full meal, which I fIxed for him. When he finished eating it, he was ready to play, full of vim and vigor. Before he went to play, I checked the burned area. What I saw was nothing short of a mighty miracle. His skin was smooth and clear, no scab, no sign of a burn, no scar. Jesus had not only healed my little Ron but had erased all evidence of his burns. To God be all the glory!

Today Ron is a missionary to Taiwan, telling Chinese boys and girls, as well as young people and adults, the wonderful story of Jesus. Will you pray for him as he faithfully ministers to these precious people for whom Christ  
died?

Are All the Children In?

I think oftimes as the night draws nigh

Of an old house on the hill,

Of a yard all wide and blossom-starred,

Where the children played at will,

And when the night at last came down

Hushing the merry din,

Mother would look around and ask,

"Are all the children in?"

Tis many and many a year since then,

And the old house on the hill

No longer echoes to childish feet,

And the yard is still--so still.

But I see it all as the shadows creep,

And though many the years have been,

Since then, I can hear the mother ask,

"Are all the children in?"

I wonder if, when the shadows fall,

On the last short earthly day,

When we say good-bye to the world outside

All tired with our childish play,

When we meet the Lover of boys and girls,

Who died to save them from sin,

Will we hear Him ask, as Mother did,

"Are all the children in?"

[From a tract by Old Paths Tract Society, Shoals, Indiana.]

About The Author

### Georgia Davenport McCain

Mrs. McCain died from injuries sustained in an automobile accident at age 87 on December 9, 2013. She maintained her Christian commitment and ministry, as well as her writing skills, until the time of her unfortunate death.

At the time of her death, many of her books were out of print. To preserve the books and allow many new readers to enjoy, the books are being converted to e-books by her family. To increase relevancy and impact to a more contemporary and international audience, minor edits to the original text have been made to some of the books.

The following article was published in the Cenla Focus in October 2012 prior to Mrs. McCain's death, and provides a synopsis of Mrs. McCain's life as an author. It was authored by Holly Jo Linzay

Georgia McCain, an author of 10 published books, recalls the day she felt the Lord Jesus lead her to start writing. "I was standing in the kitchen, and God asked me, 'What is that in your hand?" McCain remembers, and answered, "'Only a pen, Lord.' Then He asked me if I would use the pen for his honor and glory, and I said, 'Yes, Lord, as you direct me, I will write for the glory and honor of God."

That very night, her first short novel unfolded completely from beginning to end. "The Lord gave me the name of the book and just opened up the story for me from the first page to the last," notes McCain about her first book, _Through Troubled Waters_ , which was published more than 40 years ago. Her first book is a work of fiction interwoven with Biblical truths. McCain has sold thousands of copies, and has received letters from people all over the world expressing how the book touched their hearts. "I never dreamed about writing a book, let alone getting one published," McCain notes.

As a child, McCain wrote poems and made up short stories. In the ninth grade, as her teacher was passing out Christmas gifts to the class, she called McCain to the front of the classroom. She told the class that Georgia had a gift for all her classmates. Stunned, McCain realized her teacher had made copies of a story she had written and shared it with the class. From time to time, she would write another short story. Later, she was asked by a preacher to write a story that would continue and develop in a religious paper. "I told him that I couldn't just sit down and write a story. God had to give me the thoughts", McCain recalls, remembering it was later that night that she heard God question her about writing. When her son, Danny, came home from college, he read her story, _Through Troubled Waters,_ and encouraged McCain to get it published. "Everything I write, I want it to honor God," McCain says with conviction.

The 84-year-old author is a woman of prayer, and has lived a life in pursuit of holiness. Growing up as one of 14 children In the rural community of Rigolette, McCain graduated from Tioga High School. At 19 years old, she met and started dating a young man named Carl McCain. He worked as a lineman for South Central Bell and she was working as a telephone operator. After a whirlwind courtship, the two were married on July 1, 1946.

The young couple made their home in Rigolette and raised their seven children--Ronald, Danny, Kenny, Randy, Barry, Donna and Jackie. The family attended Tioga Wesleyan Methodist Church, where Georgia and Carl served in every ministry they could. They have 19 grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. The two were married for 62 years before Carl passed away. Her home is a testament to a close-knit family with photographs vying for space on shelves stocked full with mementoes from the grandchildren. A legacy of love is showcased with framed drawings from the kids alongside epic poems written by McCain about her family.

In between her serving at her church and raising seven children, McCain found time to write more books. Her second book, _Trials and Triumphs,_ is non-fiction and retates many of her personal experiences, including the loss of her four-month-old grandson, Nathaniel, to meningitis. Her third book, a fictional novel, _Shattered Shackles,_ deals with alcoholism and its affect on a family. "My daddy was an alcoholic, who would say he was tapering off when he was trying to quit. Later, he did sober up," McCain says, adding that her real-life experience probably played a role in the book.

Another of her books, _God's Little Lambs,_ is a compilation of stories written for children that can be read as bedtime stories or for family devotions. At one time, McCain says she felt impressed to write a novel about some twins. _In Straight Paths,_ the story of fiery-tempered "Connie Slocum" unwinds as she struggles with heartaches, persecution, separation and loneliness. In the book's sequel, _Plucked Out of the Net,_ Connie's twin brother, "Donnie Slocum," is featured in a story of redemption.

Three of McCain's books have dealt with prayer and answers to "prevailing" prayer. "It is absolutely amazing that God has spoken to me over and over, and keeps giving me books to write. He has faithfully led me all the way," notes McCain. In all, she has written 10 books, and family and friends are after her to write a book of poems. She has written long poems with clever rhymes marking nearly every milestone in her and her family's life.

It does not take long to get caught up reading one of McCain's books, and believing the incredible stories of faith in the non-fiction books. Written In such honest prose, her words flow from her heart and from a life seeking after holiness. If her books inspire and encourage or cause someone to "seek the Lord," then McCain says the books have served their purpose. "God deserves all the glory for anything accomplished through the writing or reading of these books," she emphasizes.

A woman of faith, McCain has taught Sunday School and Bible studies in just about every ministry at her church. In addition, for the last 34 years, she has taught three different Bible study groups at three different nursing homes. McCain has been honored and received numerous awards for her volunteer service from Ball Senior Citizens Center and various nursing homes. In 2001, she was named the Volunteer of the Year of Tioga Manor and named "Most Faithful" volunteer at two other nursing homes.

When her husband Carl served for a number of years on the Rapides Parish Police Jury, McCain supported him by participating in a variety of ways in the community. Known as a great cook by her family and friends, her daughter, Donna, presented her with a cookbook of the family recipes on her 50th wedding anniversary. Besides serving the Lord, McCain says her most important role in life has been as a wife and mother. She said all her children are "successful and love the Lord," and that they never gave her a "lick of trouble" because she kept them in church and a "switch on their behinds", if needed. Her son, Danny, who is a missionary in Nigeria, even calls her every day.

McCain says she is "blessed beyond measure by the Lord" with family and friends. Some have called her a "prayer warrior," in seeking God's will in her life. One piece of advice she freely gives out to all who will listen is the same encouragement she offers in her last book, _Walking with God for Over 50 Years,_ "Sometimes when we can't seem to pray our way through, we can often times praise our way through to God. Try it."

Books by Georgia McCain

Trials and Triumphs

Shattered Shackles

In Straight Paths

Plucked Out of the Net

Through Troubled Waters

Remarkable Incidents & Answers to Prayers

Amazing Answers to Prevailing Prayers

God's Little Lambs

Walking With God for Over 50 Years

Celebration of Life, Family, and Faith – Collection of Poems, Tributes, and Stories

In addition, many of her family recipes are provided in the following book, compiled by her daughter, Donna McCain Wilson, on the occasion of her 60th wedding anniversary:

Still Cooking After Sixty Years

Plans are to make all available via ebooks. Stay tuned.

Letters from Readers of Georgia McCain Books

The following are excerpts from some of the many letters I have received from my readers from different parts of the country from as far away as Alaska. Also, God has seen fit to place my books in several foreign countries, namely Haiti, the Bahamas, Republic of South Africa, New Guinea, Nigeria, Ghana, Taiwan, England, and South America. I have been encouraged time and again upon receiving letters from people relating how God used one of my books to help them spiritually. Some have been saved, some sanctified, some edified, strengthened, and encouraged. Again, I say, "all glory to Jesus!" He, it is that gives me a nudge when it's time to write another book. And though I'm a very busy person in the work of the Lord, plus all my other duties as a housewife, when I feel God leading, I let many things go undone and busy myself with my writing, which I enjoy as God helps. I've often thought that if only one person would walk up to me in Heaven and say "It was your book that helped me to turn to Jesus and helped to enlighten my way to Heaven," it would be worth all the time and effort put forth in writing them. One soul is worth everything.

I have a son who is a missionary to Africa. A few years back, he visited a man in jail named Olusegun Obasanjo, and gave him one of my books entitled, _Amazing Answers to Prevailing Prayer_. Later Mr. Obasanjo got saved, straightened out his life, and ran for president of Nigeria and was elected. Whether or not my book had anything at all to do with Mr. Obasanjo's salvation, I know not, but later after he became president, my son visited him, and he told my son that his mother's book was very inspirational. Later, the president wrote a book entitled _Women of Virtue: Stories of Outstanding Women_ in the Bible, and my son brought me a copy on one of his trips home. So one never knows how far their works for Christ will reach when we put it in God's hands and take our hands off. It will take eternity to tell any good my writing for God's Glory alone has accomplished.

Trust you enjoy the following letters from my readers:

I have just become a Christian and your books have helped me so much. I have four and am wondering if you have written anymore. I really like _In Straight Paths_ and _Through Troubled Waters._ Will you pray for me? I need more help spiritually.

Your six books arrived for the Stephen D. Herron Memorial Library, and we feel honored to place them in the memorial room. I trust that the people who use the room for study and prayer will profit greatly from reading them. You have always been a great blessing to each of us.

I cried most of the time while reading your book _Shattered Shackles_ because many happenings had been a reality in my life. I've had lots of heartaches.

I am a young person who likes to read but am quite selective in what I read. So many of these so-called Christian novels are so aimless and mushy, it's disgusting, but I would recommend your books to anyone. The explanation of holiness is very good.

I am so happy to know we have dedicated writers such as you who are willing to do the hard work of hammering out a good clean book for people to read. May God bless you as you use your talent for Him. We may never write best sellers but as long as we keep His smile upon our work, it is a best seller. Keep up the good work. (From another writer)

A note to say thanks for the books. Couldn't put them down. Now that's what I call talent. They were really enlightening. Thanks a million.

I read your book, which was a great inspiration to me. I never dreamed anyone could even imagine or dream up so much adversity and heartache as I have been through. Your book lifted my spirits in a very dark and lonely period of my life.

I've read two of your books in two days, as I couldn't lay them down after I started. I will pass them around and I'm sure others will enjoy them, too.

I was happy when I came across your book entitled _Through Troubled Waters._ I read part of it, but the owner took it away before I finished it. My troubles are so great that at times I feel it may be I have sinned. I do not know what to do. The portion of your book I read inspired me greatly. Could you send me a copy and any other that will help me solve my problems. _(This came from Ghana, West Africa, and I sent him a copy)_

I just finished reading your book, _Trials and Triumphs._ and felt real impressed to write and tell you how much it encouraged me. I have been asking the Lord to give me more faith and this book helped me so much. Thank you so much for writing it,

A dear sister gave me two of your books, and I really enjoyed both of them. I feel they have helped me spiritually. I really crave good reading that will draw me closer to God.

Just finished your book, _In Straight Paths,_ and it was such an inspiration to me. I was encouraged and excited when I finished reading it. I received your book at church as a Mother's Day gift for being the youngest mother. It's a real life book where I really feel like I can see me at times. It is indeed wonderful and makes me feel that God will help me, as I need it. Pray for me! God bless you.

Your book answers a need out in the public for explaining what real heart holiness is. There is much confusion at this point.

Have read your book, _Through Troubled Waters,_ over and over. Very good.

I believe your book, _Through Troubled Waters,_ is the best book I've ever read and the most spiritual for religious fiction. Keep writing books as they help many people.

Thank God for the old-fashioned way of salvation and holiness and for people like you who can write beautiful stories that holds high its banner. May God richly bless you.

Thanks so very much for your books. I read _In Straight Paths_ once again and am now reading the sequel, _Plucked out of the Net._ I enjoy them so much. Praise God for blessing you with this gift! I pray it will always glorify Him.

I am writing to you in regards to your books I purchased in Findley, Ohio. I gave one to a lady who wasn't saved. I later sent the other book, _Shattered Shackles,_ to her. She has read them, and they have been a help to her. She has gotten saved and doing her best to walk in the light.

Hope you will write more books. I really appreciate how the Lord has helped you to entwine the gospel in your stories.

Enclosed is a money order for your book, _Plucked out of the Net._ Sure appreciate your writings. So good and stay close to holiness emphasis. So much today that is called Christian fiction isn't Christian at all. May the Lord bless you is our prayer.

I'm happy to have the opportunity to receive another book of yours. They have all been excellent and wife and I have read and reread them during the long winter evenings.

I've enjoyed your books much and have shared them with others. In fact, they are all out now. I would like to order your latest one. We need more good Christian books for our young people. Also, us older ones enjoy them.

A friend of mine loaned me two of your books. I enjoyed them so much that I would like to send them to my brother who is in jail in North Carolina. One of the books reminds me of him.

I am so happy to have your books where interested and hungry souls can get them. I'm sure your writings are blessing many. The book _Through Troubled Waters_ has been mentioned several times at church illustrating truths of the message given.

I thought you might like to hear of one incident where a young man was kept home from church because of illness in his family. Someone had loaned him your book, _Through Troubled Waters,_ and he read it. The next week he testified how God had mightily dealt with his heart. The church prayed for him until he felt a clear witness.

I'm writing to see if you have written another book. I just read one and think it is wonderful. It has been a real blessing to me. I praise God for people like you that can write such a book, especially the teaching on holiness. If you have written another book, let me know.

The book, _Through Troubled Waters,_ has been such a help to me in many ways. I wish I had what the nurse in the story had. I would gladly give all I had. She is so pure and good. Would that this old world had more like her. Wish I could talk to someone like the nurse but I'm afraid it's too late. I'm not young anymore. I'm 37 and 1/2. _(Thank God, there's help for anyone who truly wants God in their life. I contacted the lady and did my best to help her. Author.)_

Your book came yesterday. I read the inside information but haven't read the contents yet, but will and also, will let others read it. Your talent came from your sixth grade teacher. ha!ha! _(He was my sixth grade teacher.)_ I'm sending a contribution to help with your good work. Keep in touch!

God sure did inspire you as you wrote the book, _Through Troubled Waters._ Everything that you tucked away here and there as you wrote was amazing. How anyone could think of so much to fit into a story!! I was very much pleased with the way God helped you to use the Scriptures to teach sanctification. There are many who will read it in your book that never would study along that line any other way. I feel that this was the main reason God helped you to get this needful book out. I feel that souls will make it to Heaven because of it--souls that you would never have come into contact with, otherwise.

It usually takes me a week or ten days before I finish a book but finished yours in three evenings. The clear guidance into sanctification is the best I've ever read and helped me a lot. The story is so true to life. It holds you completely in suspense all the time. Thank you very much for the book.

We never dreamed we would get to see the author of that wonderful book, _Through Troubled Waters._ I have wanted to get a copy to send to a real good friend in South America and now I have it. So your good book will perhaps go around the globe.

My family and I have really enjoyed your first four books.

Your book, _Shattered Shackles,_ is so touching. After reading some in your book this morning, I was so moved on by the Spirit to pray for those that are so shackled by drink or drugs. God can surely move on their heart to bring them to Christ.

I am fifteen years old and am writing to compliment you on your book, _Through Troubled Waters._ I am reading it the second time. I'm going to write a book report on it for school. I'm sure your book has helped many people.

I think you are brave to address the divorce and remarriage issue in your book, _Plucked out of the Net_. Our young people need that. Lots of people are getting awfully lenient about it. My husband and daughter read the book and really liked it. I think we all agree that it is the best yet. The message is real good.

We wanted to thank you for the privilege of reading your lovely little book. Our youngest daughter in California has just read hers and found it very profitable reading. We did, too. Of course, unless you truly loved the Saviour, you couldn't have done such a book.

I praise the Lord for giving you such a beautiful gift of writing and for your willingness to share it.

I sat right down and read your book and I truly enjoyed it. We all have our problems and I am no exception. Your book came to me at a time when I was depressed and so unhappy. I received a real blessing from it. You have a wonderful talent in telling of God's love through stories of life as we live it every day. Thanks!

I would like to tell the world what God and your book has done for me. Praise the Lord! It made me stop and realize there is a God and He truly loves me, regardless of the sins I had committed and the wrong I had done. God was calling me for one of His children. Before I read the book, I had so much hatred and bitterness in my heart. At times I even hated myself. Just as I put the book down, I had a strong urge to fall on my knees and ask the Lord to forgive my sins and to take the hatred and bitterness out of my heart. Praise the Lord! He immediately answered my prayer.

Believe the Lord has ordained the writing of this book for his people who are in troubled waters.

Enjoyed your book thoroughly. I want five more copies.

We all have our problems and I am no exception. Your book came to me at a time when I was so depressed and so unhappy. I received a real blessing from it.

Surprised and happy to receive your book. The Lord certainly used you in writing it. It is interesting, emotional and evangelistic, very well written, and I'm sure it is a blessing to all who read it. I am interested in ordering some more copies. _(This one from Alaska)._

We agreed to use your book for a part of our yearly youth Reading Course. Each year we recommend four or five books for the spiritual edification of our youth and sell them as a package to each youth society. I am heartily recommending it to our youth for two reasons, one is the danger of not obtaining holiness of heart and the other is the need of more personal workers on a one-to-one basis. The book is well written and I'm sure will continue to bless many lives.

Finished reading your fine book. It has an evangelistic message that is up to date and practical. Its message is desperately needed by thousands today.

The story is so true to life. It holds you in suspense all the time. I really enjoyed reading it. The clear guidance into sanctification is the best I've ever read and helped me a lot. My copy will be passed on to others as the Lord guides, and pray with me that many will be brought to a better understanding and to the blessing of sanctification.

I read your beautiful book and was truly blessed by it.

Magnificent! It really inspired my mind as well as my heart.Thank you! I will pass this wonderful book on, for truly it's a soul winner.

If possible, we sure could use more books in this place.

A wonderful message for both young and old. Sure it will be a blessing to many people.

My grandmother taught me you could live above sin in this life. Your book has enlightened me in this matter

Have read your book and found it very enlightening.

May God continue to bless you. _(This letter is from the Louisiana State Prison at Angola. I sent more books.)_

May God bless those who have taken time to write to me over the years concerning my books. I deeply appreciate it. There are more, but we will sign off for this time. (Author)
