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Children's Edition of Touching Incidents: Part 3

By S.B. Shaw

      How a Little Girl Utilized the Telephone

      A mother living not very far from the post-office in this city, tired with watching over a sick baby, came down stairs for a moment the other day for a few second's rest. She heard the voice of her little, four-year-old girl in the hall by herself, and, curious to know to whom she was talking, stopped for a moment at the half-opened door. She saw that the little thing had pulled a chair in front of the telephone, and stood upon it, with the piece against the side of her head. The earnestness of the child showed that she was in no playing mood, and this was the conversation the mother heard, while the tears stood thick in her eyes; the little one carrying on both sides, as if she were repeating the answers:


      "Well, who's there?"

      "Is God there?"


      "Is Jesus there?"


      "Tell Jesus I want to speak to him."


      "Is that you, Jesus?"

      "Yes. What is it?"

      "Our baby is sick, and we want you to let it get well. Won't you, now?" No answer, and statement and question again repeated, and finally answered by a "Yes."

      The little one put the ear-piece back on its hook, clambered down from the chair, and with a radiant face, went for her mother, who caught her in her arms.

      The baby whose life had been despaired of, began to mend that day and got well.

      --Elmira Free Press

      Jesus Answers Ruth's Prayer

      I went to sit up all night with a very sick neighbor. I took Ruth, my little five-year-old girl along. When I started to leave the next morning, the folks told me to leave Ruth there and they would send her home when she awakened. Being very busy, they forgot about the child for some time, and she got up and started home by herself. She started up the fence which she thought led home, but she took the wrong fence and it led out into a large pasture where there were deep canyons, bad cattle, wolves, and other dangers.

      The neighbors missed Ruth and sent their son to find out if Ruth had got home all right. Her parents became alarmed when they were told that she had left two hours before. Her father started out to find his precious child, asking God to direct him to her. After going some distance, he heard someone talking. He stopped and listened. His heart was so glad, for he knew it was his child. She was kneeling by a post praying. And this is what he heard her say, "O sweet Jesus, please send my papa to find me! I'm not afraid! I know that you wouldn't let nothing hurt your little girl, but if my papa didn't find me, my mama would cry herself to death and my papa would almost cry his self to death. So please, sweet Jesus, send my papa to find me."

      "Here I am, Ruth," Papa said, as he walked toward her.

      "Oh, Papa, I knew Jesus would send you to find me!" Ruth said as she quickly jumped up and ran to her father, throwing her arms around him.

      Mother was very happy when she saw father coming with their child, and thanked God for caring for her.

      --Essie Wilson


      "Mother, Mrs. Oats is very sick!" Ruth said as she came in the door, looking very sad. "Mama, she is sick; she is awful sick. I'm sorry for her. What shall we do for her? Let's go into the other room and pray and ask Jesus what he wants me to do."

      So Mother and her little girl went into the other room and knelt down. Ruth began to pray and ask Jesus what she should do for Mrs. Oats. And all of a sudden she jumped up and said, "Jesus told me what to do. He told me to go over and lay my hands on her and pray for her, and he would heal her." And without an answer, Ruth, who was just six years old ran out the door and didn't stop running till she was at Mrs. Oat's bedside.

      "Turn over here, Mrs. Oats," Ruth said, as she laid her hand on Mrs. Oats' shoulder. "I came over here to pray for you and Jesus is going to heal you."

      Mrs. Oats replied, "Well, pray for me, you blessed little angel; if the Lord would hear anyone's prayers, he would hear yours."

      Ruth laid her hands on her and prayed for her and the Lord instantly healed her. She got up and dressed and came over and told Ruth's mother what Ruth had done.

      --Essie Wilson


      A child from a poor family had an intemperate father, who often used to abuse his wife and children. This child had been to the Sunday School-- had become pious. The physician told the father that his little girl would die. No! he did not believe it. Yes, she will--she must die in a few hours. The father hastened to the bedside; would not part with her, he said.

      "Yes, father, you must part with me; I am going to Jesus. Promise me two things. One is, that you won't abuse mother any more, and will drink no more whiskey."

      He promised in a solemn, steady manner. The little girl's face lighted up with joy.

      "The other thing is, promise me that you will PRAY," said the child.

      "I cannot pray; don't know how," said the poor man.

      "Father, kneel down, please. There, take the words after me. I will pray-- I learned how to pray in Sunday School and God has taught me how to pray, too; my heart prays, and you must let your heart pray. Now say the words."

      And she began in her simple language to pray to the Savior of sinners. After a little he began to repeat after her; as he went on his heart was interested, and he broke out into an earnest prayer for himself; bewailed his sins, confessed and promised to forsake them; entered into covenant with God; light broke out in his darkness; how long he prayed he did not know; he seemed to have forgotten his child in his prayer. When he came to himself he raised his head from the bed on which he had rested it; there lay the little speaker, a lovely smile was upon the face, her hand was in that of the father, but she had gone to be among the angels.

      --Power of Prayer by Prime.


      "Come, Mamie, darling," said Mrs. Peterson, "before you go into the land of dreams you will kneel at my knee and thank your heavenly Father for what he has given you today."

      Mamie came slowly towards her mother, and said, "I've been very naughty, and I can't pray, Mama."

      "If you've been naughty dear, that is the more reason that you need to pray."

      "But, Mama, I don't think God wants little girls to come to Him when they are naughty."

      "You are not naughty now, my dear, are you?"

      "No, I am not naughty now."

      "Well, then come at once."

      "What shall I say to God about it, Mama?"

      "You can tell God how very sorry you are."

      "What difference will that make?"

      "When we have told God that we are sorry, and when he has forgiven us, then we are as happy as if we had not done wrong; but we cannot undo the mischief."

      "Then, Mama, I can never be quite as rich as if I had not had a naughty hour today."

      "Never, my dear; but the thought of your loss may help you to be more careful in the future, and we will ask God to keep you from sinning against him again."



      My dear little friend: I want to tell you about a little girl in Switzerland who died to save her father's life. I hope it will lead you to think of Him who died a dreadful death on the cross, that we might be saved from sin and sorrow here, and at last dwell with Him in bright mansions in the skies.

      This little girl lived near a deep ravine at the foot of one of the mountains in Switzerland. A huge rock had fallen down the mountain side, and lodged in the ravine, and thus made a natural bridge, so that those who wished to pass from one side of the mountain to the other, could cross the bridge.

      The mother of the child was an earnest Christian, and often told her daughter about the blessed Savior, who died in the place of sinners, who deserved to be punished that they might be forgiven and saved in heaven. And she told her also that unless she came to Jesus, and trusted in Him, she would be lost forever. At first the little girl did not care very much about what her mother said, but at last the mother's prayer was answered. Her little one felt herself to be a lost sinner, and that Christ alone could save her. God's spirit taught her that Jesus had paid the debt, and that He stood with open arms ready to receive her, and wash her sins away. Then she felt sure that heaven would be her home forever. Her father was not a Christian. He never gathered his loved ones around the family altar.

      One day when about to cross the deep ravine upon the rock bridge, the mother saw that it was just ready to fall. The frost had loosened it. She told her little child that if she ever crossed it again it would fall, and she would be dashed in pieces.

      The next day the father told his child that he was going over to the other side across the bridge. She told him it was not safe, but he only laughed at her. He said he had been across it before she was born, and that he was not afraid. When the dear little thing saw that he was determined to go she asked if she could go with him.

      While they were walking along together, she looked up into her father's face, and said: "Father, if I should die, will you promise to love Jesus and meet me in heaven?"

      "Pshaw!" he said, "what put such a wild thought into your head? You are not going to die, I hope. You are only a wee thing and will live many years."

      "Yes, but if I should die, will you promise to love Jesus just as I do, and meet me in heaven?"

      "But you are not going to die. Don't speak of it," he said.

      "But if I should die, do promise, Father, you will be a good Christian and come up and live with Jesus and me in heaven."

      "Yes, yes!" he said at last.

      When they came near the crossing-place, she said: "Father, please stand here a minute." She loved him dearly and was willing to run the risk of dying for him. Strange as it may seem she walked quickly and jumped upon the loose rock, and down it went with the girl. She was crushed to death. The trembling parent crept to the edge, and eyes dimmed with tears, gazed wildly upon the wreck. Then he thought of all his little child had told him about how Jesus had died to save us. He thought he had never loved her so much. But he began to see that he had far more reason to love Jesus who had suffered much more to save him from the "bottomless pit." And then he thought of the promise he so carefully made to his daughter. What could he do but kneel down and cry to God to have mercy upon him?

      If they meet in heaven, do you think that daughter will be sorry that she sacrificed her life for her father's sake? Can you not imagine that tears often filled the eyes of that father when he spoke of his sainted little one?

      You would say that he would have been a very wicked man if he had not loved the memory of his child. But is it not a thousand times more wicked for you not to love Him who has loved you so much more than that little one loved her father?

      How can you help loving such a precious Savior? Will you not ask Him to forgive you and help you to live for Him the rest of your life?

      --The Way of Faith


      "Mother, you have forgotten my soul," so said a little girl, three years old as her kind and careful mother was about to lay her in bed. She had just risen from repeating the Lord's prayer. "But, Mother," she said, "you have forgotten my soul."

      "What do you mean, Anna?"


      'Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep! If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.'

      "We have not said that."

      The child meant nothing more, yet her words were startling. And, oh! from how many rosy lips might they come with mournful significance!

      You, fond mother, so busy hour after hour preparing and adorning garments for their pretty little form, have you forgotten the soul? Do you commend it earnestly to the care of its God and Savior? Are you leading it to commit itself, in faith and love to his keeping?--Selected.


      At the close of a prayer-meeting, the pastor observed a little girl about twelve years of age remaining upon her knees, when most of the congregation had retired. Thinking the child had fallen asleep, he touched her and told her it was time to return home. To his surprise he found that she was engaged in prayer, and he said: "All things whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive." She looked up at the pastor earnestly, and inquired: "Is that so? Does God say that?"

      He took up a Bible and read the passage aloud. She immediately began praying: "Lord, send my father here; Lord, send my father to the chapel." Thus she continued for about half an hour, attracting by her earnest cry the attentions of persons who had lingered about the door. At last a man rushed into the chapel, ran up the aisle and sank upon his knees by the side of his child, exclaiming: "What do you want of me?" She threw her arms about his neck, and began to pray: "Oh, Lord, convert my father!" Soon the man's heart was melted and he began to pray for himself. The child's father was three miles from the chapel when she began praying for him. He was packing goods in a wagon and felt impressed with an irresistible impulse to return home. Driving rapidly to his house, he left the goods in his wagon and hastened to the chapel, where he found his daughter crying mightily to God in his behalf; and he was led there to the Savior.

      --Foster's Encyclopedia


      In a dark alley in the great city of New York, a small, ragged boy might be seen. He appeared to be about twelve years old, and had a careworn expression on his countenance. The cold air seemed to have no pity as it pierced through his ragged clothes, and made the flesh beneath blue and almost frozen.

      This poor boy had once a happy home. His parents died a year before, and left him without money or friends. He was compelled to face the cold, cruel world with but a few cents in his pocket. He tried to earn his living by selling newspapers and other such things. This day everything seemed to go against him, and in despair he threw himself down in the dark alley, with his papers by his side. A few boys gathered around the poor lad, and asked in a kind way (for a street Arab): "Say, Johnny, why don't you go to the lodges?" (The lodge was a place where almost all the boys stayed at night, costing but a few cents.) But the poor little lad could only murmur that he could not stir, and called the boys about him, saying: "I am dying now, because I feel so queer: and I can hardly see you. Gather around me closer boys. I cannot talk so loud. I can kinder see the angels holding out their hands for me to come to that beautiful place called heaven. Goodbye, boys. I am to meet father and mother." And, with these last words on his lips, the poor lad died.

      Next morning the passers-by saw a sight that would soften the most hardened heart. There, lying on the cold stone, with his head against the hard wall, and his eyes staring upward, was the poor little frozen newsboy. He was taken to the chapel near by, and was interred by kind hands. And those who performed this act will never forget the poor forsaken lad.

      --Golden Dawn


      "I wonder if there can be a pair of shoes in it!"

      Little Tim sat on the ground close beside a very ugly dark-colored stone jug. He eyed it sharply, but finding it quite impossible to see through its sides, pulled out the cork and peered anxiously in. "Can't see nothin', but it's so dark in there I couldn't see if there was anything. I've a great mind to break the hateful old thing."

      He sat for awhile thinking how badly he wanted a pair of shoes to wear to the Sunday School picnic. His mother had promised to wash and mend his clothes, so that he might go looking very neat indeed; but the old shoes were far past all mending and how could he go barefoot?

      Then he began counting the chances of his father being very angry when he should find his jug broken. He did not like the idea of getting a whipping for it, as was very likely, but how could he resist the temptation of making sure about those shoes? The more he thought of them, the more he couldn't. He sprang up and hunted around until he found a good size brick-bat, which he flung with such vigorous hand and correct aim that the next moment the old jug lay in pieces before his eyes.

      How eagerly he bent over them in the hope of finding not only what he was so longing for but, perhaps, other treasure! But his poor little heart sank as he turned over the fragments with trembling fingers. Nothing could be found among the broken bits, wet on the inside with a bad-smelling liquid.

      Tim sat down again and sobbed as he had never sobbed before; so hard that he did not hear a step beside him until a voice said:

      "Well, what's all this?"

      He sprang up in great alarm. It was his father, who always slept late in the morning, and was very seldom awake so early as this.

      "Who broke my jug?" he asked. "I did," said Tim, catching his breath half in terror and half between his sobs.

      "Why did you?" Tim looked up. The voice did not sound quite so terrible as he had expected. The truth was his father had been touched at sight of the forlorn figure, so very small and so sorrowful, which had bent over the broken jug.

      "Why," he said, "I was looking for a pair of new shoes. I want a pair of shoes awful bad to wear at the picnic. All the other chaps wear shoes."

      "How came you to think you'd find shoes in a jug?"

      "Why Mama said so. I asked her for some new shoes and she said they had gone into the black jug, and that lots of other things had gone into it, too--coats and hats, and bread and meat and things--and I thought if I broke it I'd find them all, and there ain't a thing in it--and Mama never said what wasn't so before--and I thought 'twould be so--sure."

      And Tim, hardly able to sob out the words, feeling how keenly his trust in mother's word had added to his great disappointment, sat down again, and cried harder than ever.

      His father seated himself on a box in the disorderly yard and remained quiet for so long a time that Tim at last looked timidly up.

      "I am real sorry I broke your jug, Father. I'll never do it again."

      "No, I guess you won't," he said, laying a hand on the rough little head as he went away leaving Tim overcome with astonishment that his father had not been angry with him.

      Two days after, on the very evening before the picnic, he handed Tim a parcel, telling him to open it.

      "New shoes! new shoes!" he shouted. "Oh, Father, did you get a new jug and were they in it?"

      "No, my boy, there isn't going to be a new jug. Your mother was right all the time--the things all went into the jug; but you see getting them out is no easy matter so I am going to keep them out after this."

      --New York Observer


      Little Jennie was eight years old, March 30, 1886. The April following she was taken very sick, and from that time until June 4, she seemed a little suffering angel. Then Jesus, who had so blessedly sustained her during all her sufferings took her to Himself. She would say, when able to talk: "Mama, I do not care what I suffer, God knows best." When she was very low, we would often see her dear lips moving, and listening, hear her praying. She would finish her prayer and after saying "Amen" having noticed that we were listening to her, would look up into our faces to see if we wanted anything.

      This patience and devotion characterized her whole life. Often, when she was at play with her sister, who was the older by five years, when some little trouble would arise, she would take her sister by the hand and say: "Kitty, let's tell Jesus." Then bowing her little head, she would pour out her whole heart in prayer to God, with the fervency that is shown by a true Christian.

      About three weeks after she was taken ill her little body was paralyzed and drawn all out of shape it seemed. Then in a few days her little limbs were so we could almost straighten them. What suffering she endured all that time, no one knows but those who were with her.

      May 25th, which was Tuesday, while suffering terribly, she said: "Mama, play and sing." I took my guitar, and without stopping to think what to sing, began that beautiful song in the Gospel Hymns: "Nearer my home, today, than I have been before." I could praise God just then, for I was filled with His Spirit. She lay there looking at me with her little blue eyes and trying in her weak voice to help me. At last she seemed soothed by the music. But we knew that Jesus in his infinite love, had quieted her for a time, because we were willing to submit to His will. We had said all the time: "Lord, not my will, but thine."

      She rested quite well until about three o'clock in the afternoon; then suddenly she spoke and her voice sounded quite strong. She said: "Oh, Mama see those people, how funny they look! They look like poles." She was lying so that she could look out of the window and as she spoke her eyes seemed to rest on some object there. Then she spoke louder; "OH, MAMMA, COME AND SEE THE LITTLE CHILDREN! I never saw so many in my life."

      I sat down on the front of the bed and said: "Jennie, is there any there that you know?"

      She looked them over so earnestly, then said: "No, not one." I asked her how they looked. She said: "Mama, every one has a gold crown on its head, and they are all dressed in white." I thought that Jesus was coming for her then. After telling me that there were none that she knew she sank back on the pillows exhausted. But in a few moments she raised up again and said: "Oh, Mama, hear that music! Did you ever hear such grand music? Now, do not shut the windows tonight, will you?" I told her that I would not.

      The next morning she called Kittie into the room and said: "Kittie, I want to tell you what I saw last night." She then proceeded to tell her the same as she had told me the evening before. Then she said: "Now, Kittie, you will forgive me for ever being cross to you won't you?"

      Kittie answered, "Little darling, you have never been cross to me. Will you forgive me, sister, for being cross to you?"

      "Darling sister," she said, "that is all right."

      Thursday night she was paralyzed in her left side so that she had no use of it. Friday all day she lay unconscious, and that night the same. Saturday, about ten o'clock, she commenced to whisper. We could hear her say: "Papa, Mama." We tried to understand her, but at first could not. She kept whispering plainer, and finally we heard her say: "Take--me-- upstairs. I--want--to--lie--on--my--own--bed--once--more." But of course we could not move her. Suddenly she said aloud: "I am going to die! kiss me quick, Mama."

      I bent down and kissed her, and she looked so wretched. I said: "Jennie, you will not have to go alone; Jesus will take you."

      She answered: "I know it. I wish that He would come this minute. Kiss me again, Mama."

      I did so; then she wished us to sing. Again, without giving one thought, I commenced singing the same words that I sang the Tuesday before. She raised her right hand arm's length, and began to wave it and bow her head. Oh! she was so happy. Then she said: "Play." They brought the guitar, and she continued to wave her little hand, while I played and sang the whole piece. One of her aunts, standing near the bed took hold of her hand to stop it, but it moved just the same; and I said: "Ollie, let go of her hand, that is the Lord's doings." After I finished, she kissed her father, mother, and sister and bade them goodbye; then called four other very dear friends and told them goodbye after kissing them. She then called for a book and wanted the music teacher, who was present, to play and sing a piece which she dearly loved.

      Before she was sick she would have little prayer meetings, and her sweet little face would shine with happiness. She would say: "Oh, Mama, how the Lord has blessed me."

      While the dear teacher was playing and singing her favorite she was waving her little hand. We sang three or four other pieces around her bed. We all thought that Jesus would take her then. Oh, what joy! it was heaven below. Jesus was there and the room was filled with glory on account of of His presence. Two of her aunts said that it seemed as though they were in heaven.

      She never spoke after that, but would try to make us understand by motioning when she wanted anything. Sometimes it would take us a long time, but she would be so patient. She was ready and waiting. She had peace that the world cannot give, and, praise God! that the world cannot take away. The dear little one lived until the next Tuesday afternoon, and went to Jesus about three o'clock. That was the time she saw the vision the Tuesday before. Tuesday morning before daylight she tried to tell me something. I said "Sing?" She looked so happy and bowed her head. I began singing: "I am Jesus' little lamb." She bowed her head again. In the forenoon she kept looking at her aunts, Ollie and Belle, and pointing up. Oh! it meant so much. It seemed to me that she was saying, that it meant: "Meet me in heaven." Finally she motioned for me to raise the window curtain. I did so and she looked out the window so eagerly, as though she was expecting to see the little children. Then the little blue eyes closed to open no more in this world, but in heaven.

      --Mrs. L. Jones.


      A poor emigrant had gone to Australia to "make his fortune," leaving a wife and little son in England. When he had made some money, he wrote home to his wife: "Come out to me here; I send the money for your passage; I want to see you and my boy." The wife took ship as soon as she could, and started for her new home. One night, as they were all asleep there sounded the dreaded cry of "Fire, fire!" Everyone rushed on deck and the boats were soon filled. The last one was just pushing off then a cry of "there are two more on deck," arose. They were the mother and her son. Alas! "Only room for one," the sailors shouted. Which was to go? The mother thought of her far away home, her husband looking out lovingly and longingly for his wife. Then she glanced at the boy, clinging frightened to her skirts. She could not let him die. There was no time to lose. Quick! quick! The flames were getting around. Snatching the child, she held him to her a moment. "Willie, tell Father I died for you!" Then the boy as lowered into the sailor's willing arms. She died for him.


Back to S.B. Shaw index.

See Also:
   Children's Edition of Touching Incidents: Introduction and Preface
   Children's Edition of Touching Incidents: Part 1
   Children's Edition of Touching Incidents: Part 2
   Children's Edition of Touching Incidents: Part 3
   Children's Edition of Touching Incidents: Part 4
   Children's Edition of Touching Incidents: Part 5


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