SOME summers ago, two friends were driving in the country late one afternoon, when doubt as to their road arose in their minds. They were miles from home, and it was growing late. One thought it would be wiser to turn back to the sign-post last passed, but the other had impressed upon her mind a conviction that they had not “lost the way,” but were just being sent by God to some child of His, whose need and whereabouts were to them as yet unknown.
So they drove along, enjoying the restful beauty of the quiet lanes, and the subdued evensong of the birds. At last they came to some lonely cottages on a hill-top, a long way from any other houses, and only separated from the roadside by little gardens full of old-fashioned flowers. Through the open door of one the housewife was seen, preparing the evening meal, and glancing out the while, for passers-by were few and far between.
Tired with the long drive, they were wondering whether they could ask for a cup of tea, when words of warm welcome drew both inside the clean little room.
Facing the door sat an old man, hale and cherry-cheeked, though bent with the weight of years, and the travelers soon found that he and his wife were rejoicing in the knowledge of the love of Jesus, and walking humbly with their God. Sitting awhile over the refreshing cups quickly placed before them, they grew deeply interested in hearing the old man’s simple story of his conversion half-a-century before, and the marvelous way in which the Lord had since led him.
The cottage was some four miles from the nearest town, with only a few dwellings of farmers’ Laborers and the like scattered here and there among the fields, and all these long years he had gathered into the tiny room behind, on the Lord’s day, such as would come to hear of Jesus and His love, and he also held a little Sunday school for the children of his poor neighbors.
“Out o’ this room, sir,” he said, “I do bless God those little ‘uns have gone o’er the wide world, and some on’em are now ministers, some missionaries, telling others in a better way nor mine what they first larned here.”
His hymn-books were old and shabby, and his Bible almost worn out. His faith in the power of the living word of God, as well as the wisdom he had received from above, were most remarkable.
At seventy-six he now broke stones on the highway for his daily bread, but evidently no thought of complaint entered his mind. “I has some glorious times on my knees, I can tell ‘ee, sir,” he said, with glowing face.
From the wife, the reason why the Lord had guided that particular afternoon to the cottage was learned, and those so guided there, rejoiced in the privilege thus given of rendering the little needed help. Then, kneeling upon the stone floor, the two visitors commended themselves and the aged pair afresh to the loving care of God, and went their way home.
Since then at times, a few gospel magazines or papers have been sent to the cottage, and also an occasional cheering note written to the old people. Sometimes a few lines in reply have been received, telling their simple but peaceful story. But one day came news from the wife that the old man had been nine weeks in bed, very ill, and that he probably would not again leave it. At the earliest opportunity his friends went to see him once more, and thus does one of them describe the meeting: “I shall never forget the manifest peace of that dying chamber. He was propped up by pillows, his long snow white hair giving him the venerable appearance of his age — now seventy-eight — and his clear, bright eyes telling of the mind unimpaired and the soul untroubled. Although our visit was quite unexpected, and he had only seen us once before, he knew us directly. Upon the white coverlet lay the old worn Bible open at the 103rd Psalm, and upon it the large horn spectacles through which he had learned so many precious promises, now the comfort of his declining days.
“They call this a deathbed,’ he said, with a happy smile; I calls it just beginning to live.’
“‘I can’t say much, sir, I grows so faint, but I do want to tell ‘ee this: Jesus Christ to-day is more precious, more sweet, more comforting to me nor He was fifty years ago. He is with me all the day long, and I’m just waiting.’
“The effort of speaking brought the perspiration over his wrinkled face, and as his wife tended him with loving hands, he whispered, Just waiting till He takes me.’
“His failing strength could not bear more, and we bade him good-bye, his trembling finger upraised to heaven and his farewell words, feebly spoken, but how strong in faith! We’ll meet up yonder! “Through the open window the cool evening air fanned his brow, the trailing rose that clung to the cottage wall threw its fragrant scent into the room, and the twitter of the birds in the thatch was the only sound that broke the stillness; all was peace.
“Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!” E. B.