Her Benny: A Story of Street Life

by Silas K. Hocking

Then he walked on again with rapid strides, as if he would escape the haunting thought. But the thought would not leave him; nay, it seemed to grow into a living voice, that sounded clear and distinct above the roar of the streets.

"Joe Wrag," it said, "is your religion such a selfish thing, and is your joy such a selfish thing, that you can think of nothing but yourself? Are you the only one for whom Christ died? Are there no tired and toil-worn men and women around you struggling in the darkness and longing for light? Do you want heaven all to yourself, that you invite no one to go along with you? For shame, Joe Wrag, you are actually growing selfish! In your thankfulness that you have found a place of shelter, you have forgotten the many outside still exposed to the storm. Is this what you have learnt of Christ? Get down on your knees, man, and ask His pardon, and ask Him for grace also that you may be saved from yourself, and that henceforth you may live for Christ and humanity."

"O Lord, have marcy!" cried Joe, rushing on faster and faster. "I've been as blind as a bat, an' as selfish as sin could make me. Enter not into judgment with me for Thy marcy's sake, an' I'll try to do better—I will, for sure."

When Joe reached his home, he went at once to his bed-room, and, falling on his knees, he poured out his soul in a long and agonizing prayer. He prayed for grace and strength, he prayed for light and wisdom. He did not ask for peace or joy, but he asked to be made holy and useful, that he might do diligently his life-work, and be able to say when death came, "I have finished the work that Thou gavest me to do."

When Joe came downstairs a light was shining in his eyes, such as his wife (who had been for many years Joe's "thorn in the flesh") had never seen before.

From that day Joe Wrag was a changed man, and, as might be expected, his wife was the first to notice the change and the first to appreciate it. That very morning, instead of eating his meal in silence, as had been his custom for many years, he began to talk to her, to ask her questions, and to interest himself in domestic affairs. And when he had taken his four or five hours' sleep, instead of moping in silence, as he had been in the habit of doing, until it was time to go to his work, he actually began to help his wife to tidy up the house, and even anticipated her wants in several little matters, and altogether made himself so agreeable that his wife was at her wits' end to know what had come over him.

Mary Wrag had grown, as the years had slipped by, from a light-hearted, high-spirited girl, into a sour, disappointed, and vixenish woman. Poor Joe was utterly at a loss to understand the change that had come over her. He could not think that he had contributed to it in the smallest degree. He had never crossed her, never answered her back when she snarled at him, never bothered her with his own troubles, and never vexed her by trying to pry into hers. He had always let her have her own way, and had scarcely interfered with her in anything, and hence it was a mystery to him how she had grown so cross-grained and sour.

It was a very common mistake, and one that has been fraught with the most serious results. He did not know how, in the years gone by, his wife had longed to share his troubles (for she was too proud to tell him), and how she wanted him to share hers. He did not know what a trouble it was to her when he sat hour after hour moody and silent, never speaking to her, and taking no interest in anything she did or said. He did not know what bitter tears she shed in the early years of their wedded life, because he would not notice a new bow of pink ribbon she had made, or a new fashion in which she had done up her glossy hair.

"I don't believe," she would say bitterly, "that Joe cares a bit what I wears. It's not a bit of pleasure to try an' make oneself look nice, for he never notices."

And so she grew cross and sour. He never blamed her, it is true, but she complained to herself that he never praised her, and even when she got thoroughly out of temper and gave him a good "blowing up," his silence only exasperated her all the more.