But Jack never was strong after that terrible accident; and by degrees, he failed more and more, until at last even Roger had to see and own that his faithful friend was leaving him.
"Yes," said Jack, "'tis so, lad, I am going to the dear Master, so don't you fret, Roger. I shall see my lass soon; and I give you my advice, Roger, to look-out for a wife when I'm gone. There's that pleasant, rosy-cheeked lass, Mary Wilson—the Post Office people, you know, and they all like you well. She were telling me how she lost her shilling when she were a child, and how you found it; and it's my belief you'd have a good chance,—and you like a chance, you know,—of getting that girl, and she's a good girl—reminds me of my Mary, in her ways. Not in her looks, Mary never had that healthy colour in her face.
"You try for her, Roger,—don't settle down when I'm gone, all alone, and turn yourself into a mill for making money; you will, if you have no one to soften you a bit. It's your snare, Roger, and so I warn you of it. It's all very well to do the best you can for yourself in business, but you want to keep your heart sound too. The good Book says,—
"'Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.'
"If you set it only upon doing well in business, it will get as hard as a flint. Try to remember that it is by the Master's help you have got on so well. He has blessed you and helped you, because He loved you so that He died on the cross to save you. He wishes you to do to others what you have done to me. Let Him have the first claim on your love and service, and then learn fully to be unselfish by trying to win the love of Mary Wilson. Dear me, boy, how happy we've been together. But Mary has been waiting now a long time."
Roger did not argue the matter with him, but he privately told himself that he had as much chance of getting Mary Wilson as of marrying a princess, and at the same time, if he did not marry her, he did not think he would ever marry at all. And Jack Sparling had been dead a year and more before Roger began to think there might be a chance, and he was not the man to lose it, if so. He had buried dear old Jack in the Newcastle churchyard, beside his lass, and with his own hands he had laid the little picture the faithful fellow had so often looked at on his breast, as he lay in his coffin.
And the house was very lonely, and one could but fail. But Roger did not fail; Mary liked him, her brother was his friend, and her parents had the good sense to see that, however low down the ladder of life Roger Read began, his wife was likely to be a happy woman, truly loved and manfully cared for. And so there is a happy home in the neat rooms over the shop of "Roger Read, Fishmonger."
He never lost Jack Sparling's influence; and though to the end of life, he never willingly lost a chance, he yet kept the best chance steadily in view. As he prospered, in many quiet ways, he gave a helping hand to others. The words of the Bible that he loved to keep ever in his mind were,—
"'What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?' and 'Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye did it unto Me.'"
And I will only, in conclusion, ask my readers to remember, that though in this story I have used the word Chance, because Roger used it, yet in truth there is no chance—no element of doubt, in the choice that concerns us all equally, and more than any earthly chance, be it never so favourable. Each must make the decision for himself or herself—must choose to serve God, and to believe in His Son—or to serve the world and the Prince of this world. But concerning the ends of these two roads, there is no chance—and so I sincerely hope that all who read this may say, "'As for me, I will serve the Lord.'"