MANY years ago, when the yellow fever was devastating New Orleans, there lay in the grass, one day, in a certain, part of town, a nice looking little boy. One could plainly see that he was very sick. A kindly man who noticed him, as he lay there, went to him and asked, what he was doing.
“I am waiting for God to send for me,” was his reply.
“What do you mean?” asked the man, disturbed by the tone in which these words were spoken, and by the helpless condition of the poor little one, whose high color denoted that he had the fever.
The little boy was ready with his answer, he said:
“God has taken father, mother and my two little brothers to His home up there in heaven, and mother told me when she was sick, that God would take care of me. I have no home, and nobody gives me anything; so I came here, and have been looking for a long time up into the sky, to see if God would come soon and get me, as mother said He would. He will come, will He not? Mother did not lie.”
Deeply moved at the child’s faith, the man said:
“You are right, my dear boy! God sent me to you, to take care of you.” Then a triumphant smile came over the little fellow’s face.
“I knew,” he said, “mother did not lie; but, dear man, how long you were on the way!”
ML 11/26/1922