SOME time ago a Christian gentleman, in walking home one evening, found himself in the midst of a group of ragged lads — beggars, thieves, or both — who were talking, laughing, and swearing. He longed to do them good, so he stopped suddenly, put his back against the wall, and said, “Boys, listen to me, I have something to tell you — a sort of story.”
They were all silent for an instant, partly from astonishment, partly from curiosity. And in the plainest language he could use, he told them the story of the life, sufferings, and death of Christ.” Not a word or a sound interrupted him. Then as the end came nearer, and he tried with all his might to make the last awful scenes seem true to them, he heard an occasional shuffle as one and another tattered figure pushed nearer to hear how the Saviour had suffered for him. They listened with faces of awe, dirty enough, but solemn, to hear of the agony that made as it were drops of blood roll down His face; and when they heard of how He died, hanging by nails on a wooden cross, because they were wretched and wicked, sobs of uncontrolled emotion burst forth. Dirty hands wiped dirty faces, as he told them that now, while he spoke to them, He was standing amongst them, and that He loved them just as much as when He died upon the cross for them.
He finished his story, and no one said a word, Suddenly he said, “Now, lads, Jesus loved us very much, oughtn’t we to love Him? Who loves Him? Let every one that wishes to love Him hold up his hand. I do;” and he held up his own.
They looked at one another; then one held his up. A little mass of rags, with only one shoe, and a little grimy face, half hidden in a shock of hair, scarcely confined by an old battered hat, with no rim, held up his dirty little hand. It was a touching spectacle!
One and another followed, till all the hands — just twelve in number — were up.
Then the gentleman said, “You all wish to love Him. Now, dear boys, hear what He says to those who love Him. ‘If you love me, keep my commandments.’” A few words followed to show what this meant for them, and then he walked straight up to him who had first held his hand up, and holding out his, said, “Shake hands on it that you will promise me to try to keep His commandments.” Unhesitatingly the little black hand was put in his, and he shook it hard, saying, “God bless you.” So he went round to all.
Before he parted from them, he gave them each some money to get a bed and a penny loaf with.
About three weeks afterward, as he was going under an archway, a little ragged shoe-black was cleaning at one side. After the customary “Clean your boots, sir,” the boy made a dive forward, and stood chuckling with delight in front of him. The gentleman had not the least idea who he was, and said with surprise, “Well, my boy, you seem to know me; and who are you?”
Please, sir, I’m Jack.”
“Jack? Jack who?”
“Only Jack, sir, please, sir.”
All at once it flashed across him who the lad was.
“I remember you now,” he said, “have you tried to keep your promise to love the Lord Jesus, and show how much you love Him, by obeying Him?”
“Yes, sir, I have, indeed I have,” he answered, with intense earnestness.
The gentleman stopped and talked to him a little, and let him clean his shoes.
“Can you read, Jack?” he asked.
“Yes sir, not overly well; but I can make shift to spell out a page.”
“Would you like a Testament of your own, where you could read for yourself the story I told you the other night?”
No answer; but an odd sound, half a chuckle of inexpressible happiness, half a choke of emotion, at the idea. There was no pretense about the lad. The dirty little thief had set his face heavenwards. He did not know much, but if he had only learned to say, “Lord, remember me,” was there not a worse thief than he, who was in no wise cast out?
“I see you would like it, Jack; come to my rooms tomorrow at half-past four, and you shall have one. Here is the address; good bye.”
Exactly at half-past four on the morrow came one modest eager tap to the gentleman’s door. In walked Jack at his summons. He had been to some neighboring pump, poor fellow, and washed himself, not clean, but streaky. He had plastered his hair down in honor of his visit. The kind gentleman shook hands with him, said he was glad to see him, and told him to come and sit by him.
“Jack, why do you want a Testament?”
“To read about Him you told us of,” said he shortly.
“Why do you want to read about Him? because you love Him, is it?”
Jack nodded his head decisively. There was no hesitation, no doubt about the matter.
“Why do you love Him?”
Jack was quite silent. His little features worked, his eyes twinkled, his soiled red-baized blouse heaved. All at once he dropped his head on the table, sobbing as if his heart would break, “Cause they killed Him,” gasped poor Jack.
It was with some difficulty the gentleman restrained his own tears. He let Jack cry till his sobs became less frequent, and then he read to him some verses from St. John’s Gospel, and talked to him of the exceeding great love of Jesus our Saviour. Then he tried to show him how he could serve the Lord here, by being a little missionary, and speaking for Christ in his life, and acts, and words, and striving to bring souls to the fountain where he had been washed. It was pleasant to see the boy’s simple delight at this thought, and to answer his eager questions about one thing and another. “How shall I do here?” “What shall I say then?” There seemed no danger of hard-heartedness or shame in him.
Then the gentleman wrote, or rather printed, his name, at his particular request, “worry large” in the Testament. Then he asked him if he should speak to the Lord Jesus for him, and with him. They knelt down side by side, and he prayed in simple words for this little lamb of the good Shepherd, in his dark and difficult pilgrimage. They then parted, the gentleman promising to be his friend.