ONE Sunday evening, in a cold December, as I was sitting surrounded by my class in a mission hall in the neighborhood of St. Giles’s, a little boy walked up the schoolroom holding the hand of another teacher. The boy’s black hair was nicely combed, his face was round and rosy, and his dark eyes sparkled brightly as he smiled to several of my scholars. His clean white holland pinafore, with the new leathern belt, told of a kind and thoughtful mother’s care, and I was constrained to smile upon the boy. One of my boys said―
“Teacher, that is little George Rushton; he is the best-tempered boy you ever knew. It is hard to make him cross, for, do what we will to tease him, he takes it all in good part.”
Indeed, as I afterward found, George’s kind and bright face made some of the sulky-looking lads ashamed of themselves, and his good-nature would not allow anyone to take an advantage of him.
I learned, too, that the rosy-faced boy lived in a street close by, in a first-floor back room, and while I was wondering how such roses could grow in the very midst of the dense streets of London, and wishing that all my boys were as happy looking as little George, the superintendent touched my shoulder and asked me whether I should like a new scholar?
So George sat down in my class, and both his name and address were duly entered in the school books. “Please call me ‘Georgie,’ teacher,” he said “that is what my mother calls me, and I like it best,” and we were soon all at home together.
Georgie took a great interest in his lessons―he was first in class, both mornings and afternoons, and I always find that scholars who learn their lessons best are among the most punctual in their attendance. Georgie’s favorite hymn was―
“Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me,
Bless Thy little lamb tonight;
Through the darkness be Thou near me;
Keep me safe till morning light.”
and I gave it to him printed upon a picture-card, having a shepherd and some lambs painted in bright colors round the words. With this Georgie was very pleased. His father made him a frame for it, and Georgie hung it over the mantel-shelf of his little room.
Once when I called upon Georgie, he pointed to the picture, and said, “Teacher, I often wish I had lived when the Lord Jesus was on the earth, for I should like to have seen Him as the Good Shepherd. I would have run to Him, knelt down, and asked Him if He loved a little boy like me?” So I explained to Georgie that the Lord Jesus is the Good Shepherd still, and that He tends His sheep and lambs now, as lovingly as He did when He was here upon earth.
Georgie always came into the school with a smiling face, and as he sat down in the class, would greet me, “Good morning, teacher, I know the verses and the hymn you gave me to learn.” One day he said “What name do you think I am called by now?” and as I could not guess he said, “Laughing Georgie, teacher, and that is what I like, for I never wish to cry.”
When many of the other lads would go for “an airing” into the parks on hot summer days, Laughing Georgie remained true to his post in the corner of the class, and found greater pleasure in the stories of the Bible than in the company of the truants. The story of Moses coming down from the mountain, where he had talked with God, how his face shone, and how he broke the stone tables upon which God with His finger wrote the words of the law, interested the little boy deeply, and Georgie was truly sorry when he heard that God would not let Moses enter the promised land, because he was angry, and scolded the people, when he struck the rock from which the water flowed to give them drink. The child wondered at the strange history of Moses’s burial, how his body was hidden by God, so that not even to this day can any man say where he lies. But however, Georgie loved the stories of the Old Testament, he loved more those New Testament stories which tell us in plain words of Jesus; and not only in the Sunday school, but often at home, Georgie read about the Good Shepherd giving His life for the sheep, and of the father who received with love and a kiss the prodigal so; who had wandered so far away from him and his home. Georgie’s father would then help his little son, and show him things in God’s book so far as he was able. Other questions Georgie would bring to me at the class, and the eager little seeker after knowledge of God’s word often made our whole class bright with himself. His mother once told me that Georgie was always contented. One evening when his father came home from work, Georgie mounted his knee, hymn-book in hand, and asked his father to sing with him., After they had finished, Georgie said, “Father, don’t you think I am the happiest boy an earth?”
“I hope so, my boy,” replied his father. “But why do you say, ‘I hope so,’ father? Why cannot you say that I am the happiest boy? for those who love the Lord Jesus may always be happy, and I love Him, and am happy.”
He would tell his parents that he was going to the beautiful land, where thousands of children dwell, and where they sing to Jesus, and see Him and love Him. “I hope, dear father and mother, you will meet me in that happy heaven,” he would say. Soon after this Georgie was taken ill and died. Before he fell asleep, he laid his head upon his pillow, saying, “While folded in the Saviour’s arms, I am safe from every snare,” and sent a message to his teacher that “he was quite happy, that Jesus was waiting for him, and that he should soon be with Him.”
Dear young readers, may you all be bright and happy as was my dear little Sunday scholar Georgie, and may you all have the joy in the Lord and Saviour which was this dear child’s portion. C.