ittle way, thrust in his face and said, "Is Abe in?" It was a
most unusual thing to see that man there, for he was a wicked, drunken
character, a trouble to the neighbourhood where he lived, and often a
terror to his poor wife and children. Many a time Abe had tried to
induce him to go to the Lord's house and begin to lead a new life; but
sin had such a hold upon him that he only made light of everything
good, and, in his ignorance and hardihood, professed to disbelieve in
God and His Word.

"Is Abe in?" asked the face at the door.

"Yes, I'm here," replied the little man in question, looking up from
his Bible, and peering over the lamp on the table to see who the
speaker was, "Come in, mon; open th' door and come in."

And in a little further came the face and head, followed by a pair of
broad shoulders and a huge body, whereupon Abe saw who they belonged
to, and rising from his seat he noticed that the great hard face was
clouded and softened with sorrow. Ah, it is a hard heart that does not
melt sometimes.

"What's ta want?" asked Abe, in a kind tone.

"Arr bit bairn 's badly," replied the big man, "and th' missus wants
the' to come and sprinkle it."

"Th' missus want me does she,--and what does thaa want?" said Abe,
looking meaningly at him. "Does thaa want me to come?"

"Ay," responded the man, looking rather humble, and feeling that Abe
had obtained his first victory by that confession.

"Well, I'll goa wi' the'," and, putting on his hat, they went out
together, and betook themselves to the dwelling of the visitor.
Arriving there Abe beheld a painful yet by no means uncommon picture.
A room miserably furnished, and not the ghost of comfort anywhere;
several little ragged children stood grouped together, and in the midst
of them was the saddest figure of all--"the missus," the wife, the
mother, in tears, and on her lap, wrapped in an old faded shawl, was a
dying infant. The woman tried to smile amid her tears as Abe came in,
just the shadow of a smile, and then her poor face settled again to
that look of anguish it had before, as if all her meagre joy were
slowly dying with that little creature that lay feebly gasping on her
lap. It was so like a woman to remember amid her grief, to give a sign
of welcome to her visitor.

"Aye, my lass, I'm real sorry for the'; thaa has a mother's heart, I
see, and thaa'd loike to keep thee bairn, I knaw thaa wad; but thaa mun
remember God has first claim on 't, an