"Ah, no," he said, and, quickly rising, he gave her a courteous bow. "Can this be Sister Patience? My name is K. L. Jones, of Paldings."
"How glad I am to meet you!" she replied. And then followed an animated conversation in which she was able to recognize and admire the fine qualities of his matured mind. Finally he expressed the desire to speak with the foreign brethren himself, and so an audience was arranged for him after the next service. Then it was, Sister Patience learned afterwards, that Brother Jones inquired deeply into the subjects of sanctification and baptism. Later in the day it was announced that there would be a baptismal service early the next morning to accommodate Brother Jones, who was to return home by an early train.
Some years have passed since then. God has wonderfully used the dear old brother, and a congregation has been raised up about him, who look up to him as their pastor. These are backward mountain people where he has labored, yet such has been his patience and faithfulness and love that they have become established in holiness and truth. Brother Jones, as we call him, is becoming feeble now, but he is still standing faithful as the shepherd of this little flock, faithful unto death.
Does it pay to use patience and prayer when dealing with precious souls? Ah yes; eternity alone can tell all that it means.
The Rescue of an Australian Lad
EXPERIENCE NUMBER 11
It was in the town of Goulbourne, New South Wales, Australia, that I began my career in life. Until I reached the age of four years, a prosperous father provided the comforts of a good home, but a great change took place upon my suddenly being left fatherless. A few months later found me in a little town on the St. Lawrence River, in the Providence of Ontario, Canada. I had accompanied my mother to this place, but she soon placed me with a strange family and went to a distant city.
As I was now separated from every family tie, life began in real earnest. It was also the beginning of a record of many interesting and often sad experiences extending over a number of years. In my wanderings in different parts of Canada and in many localities of the United States, the incidents varied all the way from being rescued from drowning to landing in jail as a vagrant. Space forbids a detailed account of my experience, which to me affords material for interesting and often regretful recollection. It may, however, all be summed up and described as analogous with the casting of an innocent infant into the mighty Niagara River to be swept along at the mercy of the on-rushing and maddening current, which knows no relenting, but bears its victim to an untimely end over the brink of the mighty falls. There destruction on the ragged rocks below awaits it unless an unseen hand should miraculously dip into the water and save that form for life and service.