Of course she went. And, of course, now that the truth was known, much was done. Dr. Everett was summoned. The wretched bed, with its distressing rags, were turned out together, and a comfortable one took its place. Broths and teas and jellies and physical comfort of every kind were furnished, and the doctor did his best to battle with the disease that long years of want and misery had fastened upon their victim. It was all too late, of course. It was true, what Mr. Roberts sadly said, that half of the effort, expended years or even months before, might have saved the poor, tortured life; but now!
How awful those “too lates” are! Isn't it a wonder that we ever take the risk of having one ring in our ears forever? There was one thing over which some of these Christian workers shed tears of joy.
“I am too late,” said Dr. Everett, “but my Master has as much power to-day as ever. He can save her.”
And He did. The poor, tired woman, who years before had remembered an old story well enough to name her one daughter “Martha,” in memory of the one who “loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus,” roused her dull heart at the mention of His name, and listened while the wonderful story was told her that He loved not only Martha and her sister, but her own poor, sinful, wrecked self; loved her enough to reach after her, and call and wait, and prepare for her a home in His glory.
Dear! Why has not some one come with the news before? Surely she would have listened during these long, sad years. Well, they made the way plain. Neither was it a difficult thing to do. The woman was weary and travel-stained and afraid, and longed for nothing so much as a place of refuge. She knew that she was a sinner; she knew that she was, and had been for many a year, powerless to help herself. Why should she not hail with joy the story of a great and willing Helper?
“Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden.” She opened her eyes with a gleam of eagerness to hear the words. “Weary?”' Yes, indeed! “Heavy laden?” Who more so? If the call was not for her, whom could it mean? What else? Why, what, but the glorious old story, “I will give you rest?” What wonder that she closed her eyes and smiled! What wonder that the first words after that were: “I'll come; show me how.” And He showed her how.
“Dirk,” the sister said, when the mother had gone the last and only restful journey of her life, “Dirk, she went to heaven; and I'm going. I've been wanting to tell you for more than a week, but I didn't know how. He asked me to, and I'm going. Now you must. 'Cause we never had a good time here, and she'll kind of expect it in heaven, and be looking out for you; she always looked out for you, Dirk.”
Then did Dirk lose his half-sullen self-control, and great tears rolled down his dark cheeks.
But the sister shed no tears. She had serious business to attend to. Dirk must go to heaven now without fail.