A small boy whom I will call Harold was traveling a long journey, but he did not mind, as he knew what a long welcome would await him at the house of the uncle and aunt with whom he was to spend the holidays.
His only fellow-traveler was a man who, seeing that he looked lonely, began to talk to him in such a kind, pleasant way that they soon became great friends, and Harold found himself telling his companion about his lessons and schoolfellows, not forgetting to say that though a few of the boys were “duffers,” most of them were good at cricket.
After a time they began to talk about the Bible, and Harold said that though his father and mother had Bibles, he had not even a Testament of his own.
“Write your name and address in my pocket-book,” said his new friend, “and you shall have one, but though it will be your very own, remember it is a message from God, a letter from our Father in heaven, and you are to pass it on.”
Two days after Harold received by post a beautiful new Bible, with his name written upon its fly-leaf. Some weeks afterward the sender of the Bible received a letter which gave him great pleasure.
‘This is what Harold wrote,
“Dear Sir,
“I received the Bible you sent me quite safely. I was very pleased with it, and I thank you very much for it. I read it every evening when I get home from school, and on Sunday afternoons I read it to my little brother and sister. I had been wanting a Bible of my own for quite a long time.
When I go to stay with my grandmother I shall take my Bible and read it to her, because she cannot see very well.
Again thanking you, HAROLD.”
ML 11/08/1942