“What could I say, father, except tell him the old, old story of Jesus and His love; that He came to seek and to save the lost, even the chief of sinners?”
“An’ how did he take it?” inquired Paul, with a grave, almost an anxious look.
“At first he would not listen, but when I began to read the Word to him, and then tried to explain what seemed suitable to him, he got up on his unhurt elbow and looked at me with such a peculiar and intense look that I felt almost alarmed, and was forced to stop. Then he seemed to wander again in his mind, for he said such a strange thing.”
“What was that, Betty?”
“He said I was like his mother.”
“Well, lass, he wasn’t far wrong, for you are uncommon like her.”
“Did you know his mother, then?”
“Ay, Betty, I knowed her well, an’ a fine, good-lookin’ woman she was, wi’ a kindly, religious soul, just like yours. She was a’most heartbroken about her son, who was always wild, but she had a strong power over him, for he was very fond of her, and I’ve no doubt that your readin’ the Bible an’ telling him about Christ brought back old times to his mind.”
“But if his mother was so good and taught him so carefully, and, as I doubt not, prayed often and earnestly for him, how was it that he fell into such awful ways?” asked Betty.
“It was the old, old story, lass, on the other side o’ the question—drink and bad companions—and—and I was one of them.”