The following was given me in a letter from a beloved: friend abroad of one she knows well, a widow and her little girl six years old, returning home in a crowded motor bus: ―
“Suddenly, a taxi in full speed met the bus, showing the powerful lights, which completely baffled the busman’s vision for a brief second or two. In God’s merciful providence, a most awful accident was averted; but the bus had an amount of luggage and one passenger swept off into the road. There was tense anxiety in the bus. Suddenly a clear childish voice rang out: “Oh, Mummie, Mummie, dear, quick, ask God not to let there be an accident. I have asked Him, and you must ask Him, too.” Then she heard someone say that the boy was knocked off and lying in the road. The boy happened to be one of their farm hands, and a special friend of Ruth’s. With a great sob, and streaming eyes, she said: “Quick, Mummie, ask Jesus not to let Bob be killed.” A man in the same bus, with a supercilious smile said: “My dear, be quiet, you, are worrying your mother.” She replied sweetly: “Mummie is not worried, she is asking God with me about things.” Then she ceased to cry, and the man said: “You seem to be quite happy now.” “Because I know Jesus has heard, and Bob won’t die.”