LITTLE Arthur sat very contentedly, with his hand in his mother’s, while his father read the chapter at morning prayers. The childish voice joined in the well-known hymn that followed, and, with clasped hands and closed eyes, he knelt, as God’s blessing was asked on the assembled household. Having been taught by his Christian parents not to look about during prayers, Arthur did not find out until the party was dispersing that his beloved nurse was absent. The happy, contented look passed from the little face, and the tears gathered quickly in the blue eyes, as he cried, “Oh! mammy, my Dido isn’t here; she hasn’t heard about Jesus today; she hasn’t sang and prayed with us. My Dido will never go to heaven.”
His mother took him on her knee and tried to soothe him, as she explained that nurse had gone out on an errand, and had not returned in time to come in; but that she would be with them again tomorrow, and that God would not be vexed with her, as it was not her fault.
“But tomorrow won’t do,” sobbed Arthur; “it must be today. My Dido will go to hell. Oh! daddy, do have prayers again, and let my Dido come in.”
The father refused decidedly, saying breakfast was now ready, he was going to be very busy afterward, and had no time to lose; that nurse should not go out during the time fixed for family worship, and must not do so again. As he spoke, he rang to have the sobbing child taken away. Upon nurse answering the bell, Arthur clung to his mother, crying more bitterly, and with rewed vehemence pleading, “Now my Dido has come, do, do please, have prayers for her, daddy; she’ll never get to heaven.”
Vainly the father tried to explain to the excited child that nurse’s salvation did not depend upon her presence at morning prayers; that the Lord had shed His own precious blood for her, and that she would be certainly saved, if she only trusted in Him. Arthur would not, could not listen, and still wailed out amid his sobs, “My Dido will never get to heaven. My Dido can’t love Jesus, when she doesn’t pray with us. My Dido will go to hell.”
His fond mother, quite upset by her darling boy’s passionate grief, which all her efforts failed to soothe, at length mingled her tears with his, and turning to her husband said, “It is of no use reasoning with the little man. He has cried till he is quite beside himself, and he is too young to understand. Just to please me, my love, do go into the drawing-room with him and nurse, and have a little more reading and prayer.”
Her husband objected, saying that she was encouraging Arthur in willfulness; but at length he yielded to her entreaties, and taking the child’s hand, led him into the next room, followed by nurse. Having read a short Psalm, he was about to kneel down when Arthur stopped him.
“No, no, daddy, now a hymn.”
The indulgent father to avoid again distressing the child, started the hymn they had just sung. He had but reached the end of the first line when he was again interrupted by a cry of despair from Arthur― “Dido isn’t singing! Dido isn’t singing!”
Poor nurse, quite overcome by her little charge’s solicitude for her soul, was weeping silently. Climbing on to her knee, and tapping with his fingers on her lips, the boy implored― “Dido, sing! Dido, sing.” Choking down her tears, nurse obeyed, and her voice joined her master’s for two verses of the hymn, and then they knelt in prayer.
As they rose from their knees, Arthur murmured in devout earnestness, “Thank God for that―thank God for that,” and sunny smiles replacing the clouds on his little face.
The fervent thanksgiving from that baby heart reached the ears of Him who, “out of the mouth of babes and suckling’s, has perfected praise.” It would have been unlike our God, who has told us to join prayer with thanksgiving, had He not heard and answered in blessing.
Long years have passed since this scene took place. Arthur is now a grown-up man, and his Dido is far away from him; but the memory of that incident has never faded from her mind, and even now she cannot speak without tears of her nursling, who cared for the safety of her soul when she thought but little of it herself. It was not until some years after she had left her young charge that she really found peace in Jesus, and could, from the depths of her soul, join in his heartfelt thanksgiving, “Thank God for that.”
Now I would ask any of you dear children, who love the Lord Jesus, is there not someone in your homes, or among your friends, whose salvation you could seek as eagerly as did little Arthur that of his nurse? I daresay you know the gospel of the grace of God much better than he did, and, perhaps, have been ready to laugh at his getting into such a frantic state because his Dido missed prayers. But don’t you think you might learn a lesson from his great love for a soul that he believed was in peril, and from the earnest efforts he made on her behalf? Will you not rouse up to see what you can do to win a sinner to Jesus? D. & A. C.