Still no answer.

One of the sailors was sent up, and what do you think he found? The poor boy was nearly frozen. He had lashed himself to the mast, so that when the ship rolled, he might not fall into the sea. The sailor brought the boy down in his arms, and they worked upon him until he showed signs of life.

Then, when he was able to sit up, the captain poured out some liquor and said:--

"Now, drink that grog."

"Please, sir, I would rather not. Let me tell you why, and do not be angry.

In our home in the cottage we were so happy, but father took to drink. He had no money to get us bread, and at last we had to sell the little house we had lived in, and everything we had. It broke my poor mother's heart. In sorrow she pined away, till, at last, before she died, she called me to her bedside, and said: 'Jamie, you know what drink has made of your father. I want you to promise your dying mother that you will never taste drink. I want you to be free from that curse that has ruined your father,' O, sir,"

continued the little fellow, "would you have me break the promise I made to my dying mother? I cannot, and I will not do it."

These words touched the heart of the captain. Tears came into his eyes. He stooped down, and, folding the boy in his arms, said: "No, no, my little hero. Keep your promise, and if any one tries again to make you drink, come to me, and I will protect you."--_Selected_.

"There were plans of mischief brewing; I saw, but gave no sign, For I wanted to test the mettle Of this little knight of mine.

'Of course, you must come and help us, For we all depend on Joe,'

The boys said; and I waited For his answer--yes or no.

"He stood and thought for a moment; I read his heart like a book, For the battle that he was fighting Was told in his earnest look.

Then to his waiting playmates Outspoke my loyal knight: 'No, boys; I cannot go with you, For I know it wouldn't be right.'"

THE RIGHT WORD

An instance of the transforming power of the right word is furnished by the following incident:--

Many years ago a minister was pa.s.sing through a prison crowded with convicts showing every phase of ignorance and brutality. One gigantic fellow crouched alone in a corner, his feet chained to a ball. There was an unhealed wound on his face, where he had been shot when trying to escape.

The sight of the dumb, gaunt figure touched the visitor.

"How long has he to serve?" he asked of the guard.

"For life."

"Has he anybody outside to look after him--wife or child?"

"How should I know? n.o.body has ever noticed him all the time he has been here."

"May I speak to him?"

"Yes, but only for a minute."

The minister hesitated. What could he say in one minute? He touched the man's torn cheek.

"I am sorry," he said. "I wish I could help you."

The convict looked keenly at him, and he nodded to indicate that he believed in the sympathy expressed.

"I am going away, and shall never see you again, perhaps; but you have a Friend who will stay here with you."

The keen, small eyes were upon him. The prisoner dragged himself up, waiting and eager.

"Have you heard of Jesus?"

"Yes."

"He is your friend. If you are good and true, and will pray to G.o.d to help you, I am sure he will care for you."

"Come, sir," called the keeper. "Time's up."

The clergyman turned sorrowfully away. The prisoner called after him, and, catching his hand, held it in his own while he could. Tears were in the preacher's eyes.

Fourteen years pa.s.sed. The convict was sent into the mines. The minister went down one day into a mine, and among the workmen saw a gigantic figure bent with hardship and age.

"Who is that?" he asked the keeper.

"A lifer, and a steady fellow--the best of the gang."

Just then the "lifer" looked up. His figure straightened, for he had recognized the clergyman. His eyes shone.

"Do you know me?" he said. "Will He come soon? I've tried to be good."

At a single word of sympathy the life had been transformed, the convict redeemed.--_Selected_.

A Friend

A friend--how much it means To be so true In all we do That others speak of us as such, And call us by that n.o.ble name.

A friend--how much it means To have a friend Who'll gladly lend A helping hand to help us on When weary seems the path we tread.

A friend--may we be such to Christ, Who gladly gave, Our lives to save.

His life a willing sacrifice, And showed himself a friend of men.

E. C. JAEGER

THE SADDEST OF INDIA'S PICTURES (1912)

I saw a sad little picture when I was at the hills; it haunts me even now.

It was a sight that should be seen; for words convey very little idea of the pathos of the scene. We were walking through the thick jungle on the hillside when on the narrow path we saw a little procession wending its way toward us. In front walked a big, hardened-looking man, in the prime of life; behind him came a child, a slim, wonderfully fair girl of about ten years, lithe and graceful, with large, expressive dark eyes. After her came a woman prematurely old, her face lined and seamed in every direction.