There was a boy in our village named Ned Johnson; he was an orphan, and had been brought up from his birth by people who did not love him, and who took no trouble to teach him anything that was good.
At the time I first knew Ned he was ringleader of all the bad boys in the neighborhood, and the first in any mischief they committed. Having heard the sad story of his life, I was much interested in him, and so determined, with God’s help to try and lead him to the Saviour; hoping, at the same time, to win some of his companions also. It was a difficult task, but I knew that “there is nothing too hard for the Lord,” so I did not despair of success. I watched for an opportunity of speaking with Ned alone, and, after talking to him kindly for some time, I asked him if he would come to my class on Sunday afternoon.
Ned laughed, and said I need not expect to catch him inside the Sunday school, for that he would never go there, and, before I could say another word, he had jumped over the fence, and was gone.
For some time after that, my efforts to see him again were quite useless, but one morning, having gone for a walk before breakfast, through a neighboring wood, I thought I heard a groan, so I turned from the path to discover whence it came. At the foot of a tall, old tree I saw a boy lying upon the ground, and going up to him, found a broken bird’s nest crushed in his hand, and guessed what had happened to him. The injured boy was Ned Johnson. I found that I could not carry him, so I called a man who was working in a field close by to help me. We took him to the cottage of dear old Matty, a Christian woman, who I knew would nurse him kindly, and then I went for a doctor.
Ned’s injuries were great, and it was very long before he was even well enough to talk, or to listen to me. I was with him a great deal, and often sat up with him at night to rest old Matty.
One night Ned opened his eyes, after a long term of unconsciousness. He recognized me, and asked me how I came there, but seemed too weak to say more. The next day, when I went in to see him, he said old Matty had been telling him what care I had taken of him; and he said he could not think why I should do so much for a bad boy like him.
I told him that there was One who had done far more for him than I had.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“You have been lying at death’s door for the past few weeks,” I replied, “and God has been very good to you; He knew you were not prepared to die, so He has spared you yet for a season, that you may turn to Him.”
“Yes,” he answered, “that was good of Him, and it was more than you could do.”
“But he has done more than that,” I said.
“What?” he asked, looking up at me wonderingly,
“He has given His own only Son to die for sinners, to bear their punishment, that they may be forgiven, and go and live with Him in His own bright home in heaven.”
“No, surely that’s a mistake; He don’t want the likes of me there,” answered Ned.
I did not reply to him, but took my Bible and read passage after passage to prove what I had said, and when I had finished, Ned’s eyes were full of tears, and he had evidently understood it all.
“Can you not believe that He loves you?” I asked; but there was no answer, so I went on reading. When I stopped again, he said,
“It seems too good to think that Jesus should do so much for such a fellow as me;” then, turning to me, he said, “I never knew before all that you have been telling; I don’t think I should have been so bad if I had known it all, but I will live for Him now if He will help me.”
His after life proved the reality of his conversion.
ML 12/11/1938