WE missed little Moggie from her usual seat in our Ragged School, and wondered what had become of her. The kind superintendent asked me to go and see the child; and fearing she was ill, he added, “Take her this bottle of jelly, with my love.”
Moggie’s home was a dark little cellar, under a small grocer’s shop, in one of the streets in St. Giles’s. The daylight found its way into the cellar indeed, but never did the sun’s bright rays peep and play between the iron bars of poor Maggie’s window.
I found the little girl lying upon a heap of dirty rags―the only bed in the room; and upon seeing me, she raised herself, and looking towards her mother, exclaimed, “That’s one of the teachers of the school, what talks to us and tells us about God.”
“Moggie dear,” said I, “Mr. James sent me to see you, and give you this nice jelly, with his love.”
“Oh! ain’t he kind, mother?” cried the child, looking very delighted.
“And why is he kind to you?”
“‘Cause, perhaps, I am very ill,” said Moggie.
“That is one reason, dear, but not the first He is kind to you because he loves the Lord Jesus. Mr. James looks over the names of the children in his school, like a shepherd looking upon his flock, and he wants them all to be the lambs of the Good Shepherd. Now, Moggie, tell me the truth, do you indeed low the Lord Jesus?”
“Yes, I do love Jesus,” she said.
“But why? You have never seen Him. How can you love one you have never seen?”
“In the Bible, teacher, it says, Jesus loved me and died for me, long, long ago, before I was born.” Then looking round upon her mother, she said, “Mother, Jesus died on the cross for me.”
Before leaving I sang that pretty hymn―
“Jesus loves me! this I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to Him belong,
They are weak, but He is strong.
“Jesus loves me! loves me still,
Though I’m very weak and ill;
From His shining throne on high
Comes to watch me where I lie.”
and then knelt down and commended the sick child to God’s care. Poor little Maggie was suffering from a sad pain, brought on from running about in the wet, barefooted and very thinly clothed.
My next visit found little Moggie much better, and, notwithstanding all the wretched surroundings of her pour horn; looking quite bright and cheerful.
Her mother said the child was always praying or singing hymns, and, indeed, the love of Christ in poor little Moggie’s heart was a brighter sunbeam in the dark, dirty cellar than those which lighten up the grandest rooms of the greatest palaces.
Dear little friend, if you are like this Ragged School girl in knowing that Jesus loves you, are you like her in brightness and happiness? Think of her little bed of dirty rags, and her dark, damp room― remember, she had no pretty books; no nice toys to cheer her in her sickness; she only had her Sunday School hymns and her dear Saviour―and tell me whether, if I were to call upon you, I should find you as happy as little Moggie?
On my last visit to the child-it was late in the evening the shop was shut up and the street looked dark and cheerless; but I heard arising from the cellar several children’s voices, singing in good measure―
“Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod?”
I made a little noise at the door, which was quickly opened, and out came a band of little ones, with Moggie at their head.
“We are having a meeting, teacher,” she said. “We’ve been singing ever so many hymns.”
“That is nice; let me come and help you,” I replied; and we had a happy time together.
Thus did little Moggie, the Ragged School child, shine for Jesus in her little home, and try to bring her young friends and companions to her own dear Saviour. Dear reader, seek to be a bright little shining star for Jesus now. J. L. M. V.