I could not ridicule that lovely spirit, and yet something within tempted my soul to do so. The next morning, and the next, and the next, the little maiden came in the same way, said the same words, and disappeared. I never answered her, and at no other time during the day did she refer to the subject, but she never failed to come at that morning hour.
One morning I said to her almost unconsciously, “Tell me how, Bessie!”
She looked at me a moment, and the next was seated on my knee. And the words that flowed—those simple, childish words in which she told the story of Christ’s love, never, never shall I forget them. My eyes were far from dry when she went away, and there was less of sorrow on her face than usual.
But one morning she did not come. I waited a long time, but in vain. No little feet came pattering along the hall. No little hand was clasped in mine. No word of instruction were lisped in my ear. Presently there came a hurried knock at my door it was opened without waiting for permission and her father was with me. “Norman,” said he, “she has just awakened from a long and heavy sleep, and is fearfully ill. Will you come? Tell me if you know what it is.”
I went. There lay the little one, with eyes closed, and in a sort of stupor. I knew at a glance. It was scarlet fever. How I told these two aching hearts I know not, but they were wonderfully calm in their anguish. The doctor soon confirmed my statement, but there was so painfully little to be done for the dear sufferer that these two days almost passed in silence as we three watched over the precious form.
At the end of the second day her life seemed partially to return; and she opened her large, beautiful eyes, and smiling a little, said, “Dear mamma, dear papa!” and then looking around, “Dear uncle Norman, won’t you love my Jesus? Mamma loves Him! Papa loves Him!—and I am going to Him, and I want to tell Him that you love Him. Won’t you love Him?”
“Bessie! little Bessie!” said I, “tell Him my heart and life are His for evermore.”
“Mamma! papa! O my Jesus! I am so happy now! Now I have all I want! Now I come, come, come! Even so, come, Lord Jesus!” And the little spirit, made fit through the blood of Jesus, returned whence it came. God’s little messenger had fulfilled her mission to the earth, had been the means of turning a soul to righteousness, and was called home!
Dear reader, have some of “God’s little messengers” visited your household and spoken to your heart, ere they were called to a better land? How have you responded to the gentle call?
Is Christ still saying to you, “Ye will not come to Me, that ye might have life?” John 5:4040And ye will not come to me, that ye might have life. (John 5:40). If no little messenger has been permitted to nestle in your bosom, and tell you, in the sweet accents of childhood, of the love of Jesus, let, oh! let this little one speak to you, as she did to Norman, and woo you to the Saviour. Let her pleading words, “Won’t you love my Jesus?—He loves you,” find lodgment in your heart, and lead you to “the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” John 1:2929The next day John seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. (John 1:29).
ML 02/22/1953