st
sinner, but I was not always a street loafer, kicked and cuffed by the
world. Hear me, my boy! Would you believe that I was once a mother's
blue-eyed boy in old New Hampshire? Oh, such a mother! She's up where
the angels are now. I can feel the soft touch of her hands that
smoothed my head when I was a boy. Oh, I wish she was here to-night!
But--Job, Job, I killed her!--I did! I came home with the liquor in me
and she fell in a faint, and they said afterward that she never came
to. Oh, Job, I killed her, and I didn't care! I went to the city. I
found a wife, a sweet-faced little woman; she married me for better or
for worse; and Job, it was worse--God have mercy on me!"

The old man gasped and then went on. "The babies came, and I was so
proud of them! Then the fever broke out. I went to get medicine when
she and the little ones were so sick, and I got on a spree--I don't
remember--but when I came to, they showed me their graves in the
potter's field; they said the medicine might have saved them. Oh, Job,
I can't think! It makes me wild to think!"

The storm burst again in its fury, and the old man's voice was
silenced. Then came a lull, and he went on, "Job, 'sins as
scarlet,'--ain't they scarlet? Well, I came West, got in the mines,
went from bad to worse and now, Job, I'm dying! And who cares?"

"God cares," said Job. "Listen: 'For God so loved the world, that he
gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not
perish, but have everlasting life.'"

"Oh, Job, does that mean me?--poor old Yankee Sam!" said the dying
man.

Again Job read the words, and once again told as best he could the
story of the Father's love and of Jesus, who came to save from sin;
came to save poor lost sinners.

The old man hung on every word. "Say it again, Job, say it again! God
loves poor Yankee Sam! Say it again!"

Over and over Job said the words, then he sang soft and low:

"Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly,"

while the tempest raged without.

"Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on thee."

Just then Yankee Sam stopped him.

"Job, that's me, that's me! Pray, Job! I am going fast!"

Oh, how Job prayed! Prayed till he felt God close by that dying bed.

"'As scarlet'--yet--'white--as snow.' Is that it, Job?" whispered Sam.
"Oh, yes, that's it! They're gone. Job--the devil's lost his mortgage.
Let me pray, Job. It's the prayer mother said for me when