“YOU will remember my dolly, Daddy, won’t you?” called out little Nell.
“Indeed I will, little one,” replied the cattle drover.
“A big one,” repeated the child.
Mr. Hunt smiled, waved his hand, and disappeared around a bend in the road.
Nell was very excited. She had never dressed a real doll of her own, only rag dollies which her mother had made for her. She had asked her father every day when he was going to market, and she hardly slept the night previous to this eventful day.
After selling his cattle, Mr. Hunt made some purchases, and finally bought a beautiful doll with wax face and yellow curls, and eyes which would open and shut. He thought of his little girl’s delight, and smiled to himself.
By this time it was getting late, and it might have been better to stay in town over night and return the next day. But the thought of his little Nell’s anxiety to possess the doll made him determined to go home that night. Away from the city lights, on the way home, it was so dark that he could scarcely see the road. Then it began to rain and the wind blew the rain in Mr. Hunt’s face. It blew up into a terrible storm. Progress was slow, but he trudged on. Then suddenly, he stopped.
“I could have been sure there was a cry,” said he to himself.
He went on a little farther. Then he heard the cry again, and it sounded so weird in that lonely spot.
“Who is it? Who is there?” shouted Mr. Hunt.
The voice seemed like the voice of a child, but Mr. Hunt was doubtful. He had quite a sum of money with him, for many would know of his trip to the market, and it might be a trap to waylay and rob him.
For a moment he hesitated. At first, he was inclined to press on homeward as quickly as possible, but how could a child be out on such a night? However, he heard the cry again, and said aloud, “If any man’s child is out here, Anthony Hunt is not the man to leave it here to die.” He left the road and made his way across the open field.
At last, in a hollow, under some bushes he found a little dripping thing that sobbed, and he took it in his arms. Wrapping his cloak about her, he started home again.
“Don’t cry, little one,” said he; “I’ll take you safe home to your mommie.”
Soon the child cried herself to sleep.
The lights of his cottage beamed a welcome to him through the wet night, and how glad he was to see them. “My wife has it all lit up for me,” said he. “It’s to cheer me after such a bad trip.”
As soon as the cottage door was opened he saw that something was wrong. The room seemed filled with neighbors, and Mrs. Hunt stood among them, crying.
“Oh, don’t tell him,” she cried. “It will kill him.”
“What is it?” he asked, turning pale.
“What is that under your cloak?” inquired one, before the rest could speak.
“A poor lost child I found out in the field.”
The light fell on the sleeping child. It was little Nell.
She had wandered out to meet her Daddy and her dolly.
“Oh, if I had gone on and paid no attention to that cry for help, how should I feel now?” said Mr. Hunt to his wife afterward.
“Thank God you didn’t,” she replied, as she hugged her precious little girl to her heart, and the tears rolled down her face.
Is God less pitiful than man? Nay, a thousand times more so. He listens to the cries of lost sinners, and He sent His blessed Son down to this world to save. “The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.” Luke 19:10.
But none of the ransomed ever knew,
How deep were the waters crossed,
Or how dark was the night that the Lord passed through,
Ere He found His sheep that was lost.
He gave His life to save sinners, and to bring them home to the Father’s house.
Dear young reader, have you cried to the Lord Jesus to save you from perishing in your sins? If not, do it now, while the door of heaven is still open, and while the Saviour still waits to save.
ML-04/05/1964