"Yes, I will hear you sing your little hymn." He raised himself on his elbow and then sang:
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child;
Suffer me to come to Thee.
Fain would I to Thee be brought,
Gracious Lord, forbid it not;
In the Kingdom of Thy grace
Give a little child a place."
"That's the little hymn, sir; Goodbye."
The gentleman went away, came back again in less than two hours and climbed the ladder. There were the chips and there was the little toy with one hand by his side and the other tucked in his bosom underneath the little ragged shirt—dead.
-John B. Gough.
SIX MONTHS' RECORD
Very tiny and pale the little girl looked as she stood before those three grave and dignified gentlemen. She had been ushered into Brother Gordon's study, where he was holding counsel with two of his deacons, and now, upon inquiry into the nature of her errand a little shyly she stated that she desired to be baptized.
"You are quite too young to be baptized," said one of the deacons, "you had better run home, and let us talk to your mother."
She showed no sign of running however, as her wistful blue eyes traveled from one face to another of the three gentlemen sitting in their comfortable chairs; she only drew a step nearer to Brother Gordon. He arose, and with gentle courtesy that ever marked him, placed her in a small chair close beside himself.
"Now, my child, tell me your name, and where you live."