JUST one of the hundreds of newsboys in the great city of New York was Jimmie. No one knew where he had come from. The lusty wail of a tiny infant left on the streets of New York had touched the heart of one of the East side dwellers, and she had taken the tiny baby to her little garret room and had nursed him to a none too sturdy childhood.
She had been gone now several years and Jimmie had valiantly fought the battle of life alone—ragged, often hungry, but still cheerful. One day something wonderful happened to Jimmie. A sweet-faced lady, who had for some time been one of the most regular customers, invited him to come to a mission Sunday school in his neighborhood. No one had ever asked Jimmie to go anywhere before, and certainly no such lady as this had ever spoken kindly to him. Jimmie was thrilled, and long before the time on Sunday he was at the mission.
As politely as if he had been one of the rich boys whom he had seen going to school in uptown New York, the lady asked Jimmie to come in, and found a place for him among other boys of the class. By and by it came time for the boys to recite the verses which they had learned, and to read the lesson from the books which the teacher had given them.
When came Jimmie's turn to read, he hung his head, and when the teacher encouragingly urged him to read his verse, Jimmie had to confess that he had never been to school once in his life and that he could not read what the book said. Gently patting him on the back, she told him not to mind, and promised that if he would remain after the others had gone she would teach him some verses.
Jimmie was glad to stay. He wanted to be able to say some of those verses as the older boys did. The lady showed him how to begin with the forefinger of his right hand, and repeat the first part of the Shepherd's Psalm,
"The Lord is my Shepherd," giving each finger a word. Then she told him about the Good Shepherd who had come to die for him in order that he might have eternal life. Jimmie said the words over and over again until he knew them, and went away with a new light shining in his face, promising to be there on time the next Sunday.
Next Sunday come, but no Jimmie appeared. After waiting a little while the teacher inquired of the other boys if they had seen Jimmie. It was she learned that on the previous day, while crossing the street, Jimmie had been injured by an automobile and that he was now in the hospital, not expected to live.
Immediately after Sunday school was over she went to the hospital. As Jimmie saw her coming down the long hospital ward he slipped one hand out from under the white sheet, and with fingers extended and a smile on his face he repeated as she approached his bed the words that she had taught him about the Shepherd.
"Do you know, lady," he said, "I like the third finger best of all."
"Why?" asked the lady.
"Because," said Jimmie, "it says my Shepherd. I never had anything in my life for my very own. I never even had a father or mother, but you told me that the Shepherd was mine, and I am glad." Then as the exertion and the talking exhausted what little strength he had summoned Jimmie lay very quiet.
The next day when the teacher came to see Jimmie she found that the brave little spirit had slipped away early that morning. All night long, so the nurse told her, though so weak and feverish, Jimmie had repeated again and again,
"The Lord is my Shepherd."
When they removed the little body from the hospital cot, they found the third finger of Jimmie's left hand firmly clasped by the right. In simple faith he had claimed the Lord Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd, as his own. Jesus says;
Messages of God’s Love 7/29/1934