IT was at the dawn of a beautiful Sunday morning in the month of June, that a child’s little wagon might have been seen near the town of N., in which a small boy sat, whose frail body was pillowed up as softly as possible with cushions. His pale cheeks spoke of long years of suffering. With apparent deep interest his eyes were fixed on the beautiful flowers in the green meadows nearby, while at the same time his ear seemed intent on listening to the melody of the birds that were warbling their morning songs in the leafy branches of the trees.
What can be the matter with the boy, and where does he live? thought a lady who was walking along the same way; and turning to the woman who was drawing the little wagon, she inquired:
“Is that your own child, my good woman? The poor boy seems very ill, and yet he has such a bright, happy look.”
“My Jacob is a poor cripple,” answered the woman; “he can neither get around nor play like other children; but he is very happy, especially when I take him out in this way in the morning, before I go to my day’s work. The rest of the time he has to spend all alone at home.”
“You look tired, my good woman,” continued the lady, in a friendly tone; “let us sit down under the shade of that tree for a little while. I would like so much to hear something of the history of your poor little invalid; how old is he?”
“He is ten years old,” was the answer.
“And has he always been as he is now?” asked the lady.
“Oh, no,” replied the mother, as tears filled her eyes; “he used to be a fine healthy child. But you see, Madam, the poor boy was only nine months old when his father died. Then urgent need compelled me, from that time on, to leave him to the care of his ten-year-old sister. One day while I was out working, the sister let her little brother fall. Several months he lay very ill from the results of that fall; and I thought I should lose him. I was too poor to precure for him all the attendance and medicine he needed. The Lord, however heard and answered my prayers and graciously spared him to me.”
“But the child must be quite a burden to you with all your cares,” suggested the lady.
“No, indeed. The boy is my highest delight; my greatest joy here on earth. Every morning, before I go to my day’s work, I lay everything he needs through the day, on a table close by him; and when my daughter and I return home tired out with our day’s work, we always see his pale, gentle face looking out for us at our little window. He sings out for joy whenever he sees us coming; and then I forget all my weariness, and can praise the Lord from the depth of my heart for the joy He has given me in my boy. In the morning I rise an hour earlier, on purpose to take my dear one out for a ride in the open air. It does him so much good; and these are the most precious moments of my life.”
With growing interest the lady gazed on the poor little cripple. He lay there so restful and contented in his carriage, as if he were the happiest child in the world. He appeared to be buried in thought, and seemed as though he had not heard a word of all the conversation between the lady and his mother. When the latter, however, put the question to him, if the loneliness at his home, through the day, was irksome to him, he replied with a bright smile; “Oh, no, I never feel lonely. I’m always quite happy. The Lord Jesus is so good to me; and I thank Him every day for giving me such a dear mother, and such a kind, good sister. I read a good deal in the Bible, and sometimes some little books Louise has brought me; then every Wednesday and Saturday a few boys come and read some pretty stories to me. I have also, in our little window, a rose-bush, you never saw a prettier one, perhaps; it blooms every month. The first rose, I give to my mother, the second, to my sister, and the others to my little friends, for I have nothing else to give. If you will only come and see us, I will give you one, too.”
“That would be a great pleasure to me,” said the lady in the most friendly tone, “I will come tomorrow, and see you, and your pretty rose-bush.”
She cast one more look at the poor but happy boy, pressed the mother’s hand warmly, and bade them farewell for that day.
“The Saviour, Jesus, is gone to prepare,
Such a beautiful home in the sky,
And He says He will come,
And take to that home,
Every sinner that’s born from on high.”
ML 06/10/1900