JUST as I was beginning to climb the hill, at the summit of which our house stood, I noticed a poor girl on the opposite side of the way. She was carrying a very large parcel, and trying to reach the top of the hill, though, at every two or three steps, she stopped, and laying down her parcel, gasped for breath.
The thin, wan cheeks, with the bright red spot on each side, together with the low hollow cough, told their tale but too plainly. Quickly crossing the road, I asked her to allow me to carry her parcel up the hill adding,
“You must, I fear, be suffering sadly.”
The only reply my words received was a burst of tears from the poor girl, so violent that her thin frame seemed shaken through and through.
The excess of her sorrow quite frightened me and laying my hand on her shoulder I said:
“Do tell me your trouble. I should be so glad if I could help you. Won’t you come and sit down on the seat under the elm tree, and then you can rest a little bit?”
With a great effort the girl walked a few steps farther, and we sat down together. She did not speak at first, so once more I asked if I could be of use to her. Again she broke out in fresh sobs, till at length, seeing how really distressed I was at her grief, and her continued silence she sobbed out,
“You are too good; nobody ever speaks kindly to me now.”
By degrees she became calmer, and then she told me a sad tale of poverty, sorrow and sin. She was a young country girl, and had come to the city on her father’s death, having been promised a home by a widowed aunt.
The first news that greeted her on arrival, was her aunt’s death. Her mother wrote, begging her to return at once to her home in the country, but to a foolish young creature, such as she was, the city offered too many charms.
Naturally delicate, and used to a country life, the confinement, together with the bad atmosphere, soon affected the poor girl, and caused the roses to leave her cheeks. It would take too long to tell all she told me: suffice it to say, her health gave way, and she sank lower, till at last she became very despondent. She was in this condition, when, one day being sent out for change by her employer, she happened to pass one of the large hospitals. Several ladies, with baskets of flowers on their arms were just going in and one of them noticing her wistful gaze offered her a bunch, saying at the same time a few kind words. The card, attached to the flowers had on it two texts. They were,
“Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” and,
These words were read by the poor girl, and sank deeply into her heart. She determined, if possible, to find her mother, and for that purpose asked her employer’s permission to leave before her month was up. This he refused to do and after treating her in the most heartless manner during the remainder of her stay under his roof, he turned her adrift without a penny in the world.
Thrown thus upon the wide world. the poor forsaken girl resorted to walk if possible to the home of her childhood. She had not proceeded far before her strength gave way, and she was taken to a neighboring hospital. There she lay for several weeks between life and death. After a time she rallied, and her longing to see her mother took possession of her. Once more she started out again on her journey. She was within a few miles of her mother’s cottage when I met her, in the way I have described. A home was found for her that night, and the next day a letter was sent, begging her mother to come at once.
On her arrival the poor girl was found to be too ill to be moved, so a kind boatman generously gave both mother and child a shelter in his little cottage.
I visited her constantly, and on hearing the case the kind clergyman of—— went to see her. His visits, and the study of God’s Word were blessed to her soul. She was led, by the teaching of the Holy Spirit, to see how great a sinner she had been, and for some time she was almost overwhelmed with distress.
One day, however, on entering her room, I was surprised to see a bright smile on the usually sad face. Before I had time to speak, she said:
“O, Miss —I see it now, and I’m so happy. Jesus did it all: He died for me, and all I have to do is just believe it, and thank Him: showing my thankfulness, not with my lips only, but in my life. O, it seems too good. I have come now.”
As she said these words, she drew from under her pillow the dirty little card with those blessed words,
“Come unto, me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Handing it to me she added:
“And now, Miss —I’m sure He’ll find mother too, for she is weary and heavy laden, and wants finding—O, so badly.”
From that time notwithstanding intense suffering, I never heard a complaint. Her great joy was in reading her Bible, and being sung to. One hymn in particular she always loved, and never would let me leave without singing this verse.
The sands of time are sinking,
The dawn of heaven breaks,
The summer morn I’ve sighed for—
The fair, sweet morn awakes,
Dark, dark hath been the midnight,
But dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.”
On my return borne, I received several letters from the mother and daughter. After the poor girl’s death, her mother sent me, as a little token of loving remembrance, a present her daughter prepared for me. It was a shell, with these words tastefully painted on it,
“I will arise and go to my Father”.
ML 03/22/1925