SHOEBLACK JIM.
In a small, crowded room in one of the rear tenement houses of our great city, where the sun's rays were never known to shine, or the fresh air allowed to penetrate, our little Jim lay dying.
Months before, I one morning saw him standing on a street corner, with his shoe box strapped to his back, calling out in tremulous tones, "Shine, sir?" But the hurrying business men paid little or no attention to the pleading voice or frail form which was swayed to and fro by the bitter, biting December wind. As I handed him a picture paper, I asked, "Are you hungry, my boy?" I noticed the pale, pinched cheeks and the large brown eyes fast filling with tears as he replied, "Yes, miss. I've had nothing to eat since yesterday morning; but granny is worse than me; fur she's had nothing but a cold tater since day 'fore yesterday."
"And who is granny?"
"She lives in the rear alley on Mott; me own mother died over on the island, so granny says, and I guess I never had any father."
"Did you ever go to a Sunday-school or Band of Hope meeting?"
"Laws, no, miss! I've no time. I has to stan' around all day, and then sometimes gits only a couple of shines. Them Italian fellers, with the chairs, takes all the profit of us chaps. Granny says 'tis a hard world."
I handed the child a dime, and told him to get a warm cup of coffee and a roll; then got from him a promise to attend the Band of Hope meeting that afternoon at four o'clock. I hardly expected to meet him again, but was happily surprised to see him walk in,—shoe-box on his back,—while we were singing,—"Fold me to thy bosom." I shall never forget the expression that was on his face as he stood spell-bound in the middle of the floor, and stared at me and the organ. I motioned him to a seat, and he did not move till the music had ceased and the other children were all seated.
My lesson that day was about the great Shepherd that goes out upon the hills and mountains of sin and gathers in the little lambs that wander away from the sheepfold. I did not know, that day, that the dear Saviour's hand was already stretched out to receive this one little lamb that had many times, young as he was, been found tipsy, and also smoking cigarettes that he had stolen from somebody's street stand.
He was a regular attendant at Sunday-school and Band of Hope, and no one joined more heartily in the singing than "Jim." One day, in our children's prayer-meeting, he gave his heart to Jesus. No one could doubt the conversion of that little heart when they looked into the bright eyes and beaming face that continually shone with heavenly light.
One day a messenger came to me in haste and said, "Jim is dying. Hurry, please, miss; he wants to see you agin afore he dies." I hurried; and as I groped my way along the dark alley and up the rickety stairs, I caught the sound of the sweet voice singing "Fold me, fold me, precious Saviour." I entered quietly, so as not to disturb the singer, but his bright eyes saw me, and he said, "Sing it with me once more, teacher." We sang it through together, then he said, "The next time I sing will be when Jesus folds me in His arms. I'll never forget the hymn, but will remember it till you come up there too; then we'll sing it again."
The little lamp of life went out. The great Shepherd had called His little lamb home. There was
"Another gem in the Saviour's crown,
Another soul in heaven."
—A True Story by a New York Teacher, in S. S. Times.