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By D.L. Moody

      I remember a child that lived with her parents in a small village. One day the news came that her father had joined the army (it was at the beginning of our [Civil] war), and a few days after the landlord came to demand the rent. The mother told him she hadn't got it, and that her husband had gone into the army.

      He was a hard-hearted wretch, and he stormed and said that they must leave the house; he wasn't going to have people who couldn't pay the rent. After he was gone, the mother threw herself into the arm-chair, and began to weep bitterly. Her little girl, whom she had taught to pray in faith (but it is more difficult to practice than to preach), came up to her, and said, "What makes you cry, mamma? I will pray to God to give us a little house, and won't He?" What could the mother say? So the little child went into the next room and began to pray. The door was open, and the mother could hear every word, "O God, you have come and taken away father, and mamma has got no money, and the landlord will turn us out because we can't pay, and we will have to sit on the doorstep, and mamma will catch cold. Give us a little home." Then she waited as if for an answer, and then added, "Won't you, please, God?: She came out of the room quite happy, expecting a house to be given them.

      The mother felt reproved. I can tell you, however, she has never paid any rent since, for God heard the prayer of that little one, and touched the heart of the cruel landlord. God give us the faith of that little child, that we may likewise expect an answer, nothing wavering.

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