“Are you going out tonight, Mary?”
The speaker, a tall, frail, old woman seated in in old rocker chair, looked wistfully into her daughter’s face as she spoke, but she received no answer.
“You’ll stay at home tonight, won’t you, Mary?” she asked presently.
Still no answer. The sad old face grew sadder still. She knew that Mary’s going meant another night of dissipation in haunts of vice, and another day of “sleeping off effects,” while she must sit uncared for and neglected, hungry and thirsty, unless a kind neighbor chanced to come in.
“I’m so tired, Mary,” she said by and by. “You’ll put me to bed before you go, won’t you?”
“No, I won’t,” she replied crossly. “I ain’t got time. I’m afraid Jen’ll be gone now, before I get down there. I’ll be back in time to put you to bed,”
“Yes, so you said last night, but you didn’t come, and I had to sit here all night. Please put me in bed, Mary; my back does ache so bad,” pleaded the mother.
“Oh, shut up, I ain’t got time I tell you.” And Mary caught up a gaudily trimmed hat, and placing it on her head hurried away. The poor old mother buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud. “O God, my Father,” she cried, “how long, how long? Have mercy, Lord, save my daughter. Oh, give me back my Mary, my pure little girl.”
Mary, returning for something she had forgotten, reached the house just in time to hear these last words. They sunk into her sin-hardened heart like a barbed arrow. She quickly turned away. She would not let her mother know that she was near. But how those words rung in her ears! Her eyes filled, with tears, but she dashed them away savagely. “Pshaw,” said she, “what a softy I am! I must hurry down to Jen’s.” But when she reached the house where her companion in sin lived, she found that she had already gone. Mary stood undecided. Again she heard her mother’s prayer. The pathetic look in the dim old eyes came vividly before her, and found a tender place in her heart. “I might have put her to bed,” thought she. “I wish I had. I’ll go back and do it yet.” Her mind was very busy as she walked slowly towards home. She let her thoughts wander in the past, when she was her mother’s “pure little girl.” That was before her father died, and before mother had that fall which made her such a cripple—yes, away back before they came to this wicked city. She remembered her first sin.
And Satan had cunningly led her on, until—ah, there was no trace of the “pure little girl” in this sin-polluted woman. She stopped abruptly. “There’s no use to think about it now,” she muttered. “I’m too far gone—might just as well go to the devil first as last. There’s no help for me.” And turning again, she walked rapidly down the street ‘till she came to a low saloon. Besides the bar-tender, there was only a blear-eyed man lounging on a seat smoking. He rose up as she entered.
“Hello, Moll,” he said. “Come and have a drink. Here, Sam, two beers, quick,”
She took the glass and swallowed its contents.
“Have you seen Jen tonight?” she inquired presently.
“Yes,” replied the man, “she was here a while ago. Said she was going up to the Rescue Mission to learn a new song,”
“I’ll go and find her,” said Mary. “We’ll be back soon.”
When she arrived at the Rescue Mission the song service was over. She wondered if Jen was inside. She would just go in a moment and see. So she slipped quietly into the back seat. The minister was reading Jer. 18:4, “And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter; so he made it again another vessel.” Then in an earnest address the speaker applied this scripture to human lives; which God, the potter, intended for vessels of honor for Himself, but which became marred by sin. Said he, “It is Satan’s business to mar the clay, and as to how well he succeeds is proven by the lives of sin all about us—men and women on whose faces is stamped the very image of Satan. But listen, O sin-bound soul, the divine Potter is able to take the marred, stained, broken clay and make it again a clean, pure vessel. He longs to do this. Will you let him take your fallen, sinful life, and make it clean?”
Mary was ready to yield. She put her head down on the back of the seat to hide her tears. Oh, how marred her life looked! How unclean! Was it indeed true that God could make her marred life clean? Presently they sung a hymn, and the meeting was dismissed, but an earnest invitation was given to all who were tired of sin, and desired to give themselves to Christ and henceforth to live for Him and let Him work in them, “both to will and to do of His good pleasure,” to remain for the after-meeting.
Mary’s head was still bowed. Shall she go or stay? Somehow she had grown suddenly weary of her life of sin. She longed for this new creation. Yes, she would stay. If Jesus could make her new, pure and clean, she would give herself to Him. On reaching home that night there was a peace in her heart, such as she had never known before. She paused a moment at the door, and looked at her mother. Her head had fallen painfully forward while she was sleeping. Mary hastily went and raised her in her arms.
“Is it Mary? murmured the old lady.
“Yes, mother,” cried Mary, and kissed her over and over; then put her to bed.” It’s your Mary come back―the old Mary made pure and clean. ‘The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.’ That’s what they said at the Rescue Mission. Oh, mother, can you forgive me for my cruelty to you?”
“Yes, my daughter,” exclaimed the mother.
“Oh, God be praised for His goodness to me!”
Mary toiled gladly for her mother’s comfort. An easy chair soon came in place of the hard rocker. Then a wheel chair, and on pleasant evenings they both might be seen on their way to the Rescue Mission, where Mary had yielded herself to the divine Potter, to be made a vessel meet for the Master’s use. Mrs. H. H.