Part 8 (1/2)

The girl's mother died when she was a babe. The father (not then a saloon man) sent her to New York to be raised by her aunt. When old enough she was placed in school. The aunt died. She was removed to another school, and there she remained until called for by her father, who all these years had been her provider. He brought her to San Francisco, where he now kept a dive and dance-hall. She being a rather timid girl, it can be readily understood why she submitted to his authority and tyranny.

My mind now reverts to two of the soldier boys, returned from the Philippines and seated one night in one of those places where we were permitted to work and also to sing. Toward the close of the song,

Can a boy forget his mother's prayer, When he has wandered G.o.d knows where?

I discovered them with their arms about each other's shoulders and both with the tears silently coursing down their cheeks. Setting my instrument on one side and remembering my own dear son, the daily object of my prayers, I essayed, in earnest, gentle tones, to admonish them. Both acknowledged having been carefully reared by Christian mothers, one of whom was dead. Had they been my own, I could not have more earnestly pleaded with them. In consequence of my admonition they soon took their departure, promising as they did so never again to cross the threshold of any place where they would be ashamed to have their mothers find them, and also to seek once more their neglected Savior. Both were soon reclaimed; for I had the pleasure of meeting them later in a house of wors.h.i.+p on the Army's camp-grounds, at the Presidio.

Christian parents, you that through death or other means have been deprived of the companions.h.i.+p of your children, why not occasionally join some of the rescue workers in their efforts to save somebody's wandering boy or girl, instead of sitting in a rocking-chair, nursing your sorrows? Speak the kindly, loving word of warning or advice; encourage the wayward son or daughter to reform; and thus better your condition as well as theirs. This will _surely_ bring an indescribable peace and satisfaction to the soul, a.s.suage much grief, and help to promote the Master's kingdom. He takes us at our word. We sing:

I'll go where you want me to go, dear Lord.

Over mountain, or plain, or sea, I'll say what you want me to say, dear Lord, I'll be what you want me to be.

Do we mean it?

CHAPTER XII.

MARY.

Of all the pathetic stories from members of our family, I deem Mary's far in excess of others though all, without exception, are woefully sad G.o.d knows.

One day a telephone call came to us from the city and county hospital, situated in a suburb known as The Potrero, inquiring if we had room for a delicate young mother with her three-weeks-old babe. They informed us that her time as a patient had expired and, moreover, that they had just been quarantined for smallpox, but that she had as yet suffered no exposure. The workers were quickly consulted, also a few trusted converted girls, and together we knelt in prayer and then consulted G.o.d's Word. Praise his name! we opened it on the ninety-first Psalm.

What better a.s.surance than in verses 10, 11, and 12?

Soon we were welcoming one of the most forlorn specimens of humanity the home had ever received. Jack, the delicate-looking baby, had the facial expression of a tiny old man, but oh! such beautiful eyes! We realized that both would require very tender care for some time to come. When Mary became able to work, she rendered valuable service, for she liked to cook and was efficient and economical. Whilst she was thus occupied, her babe was being well cared for in the nursery.

Several months pa.s.sed by, during which every means was resorted to in order to help Mary learn to seek and find her Savior, but all without avail.

Little Jack, never very strong, was taken seriously ill and soon, from the waist down, was paralyzed. Mary now relinquished all other duties in order to nurse her sick treasure. We never witnessed greater love and devotion. For ten days before he died, she did not leave his bedside one moment longer than necessary, never changed her clothes, excepting once, and never lay down to sleep. On more than one occasion it became my privilege to share the night vigils, for which she was sincerely grateful. How my heart yearned for this poor, hopeless mother! How I longed to impart to her the secret of salvation and of the Burden-bearer!

”Mary,” I said, ”if you would only try my Savior, dear, I a.s.sure you that you would feel better, body and soul, I've never heard _your_ story; won't you tell it to me whilst we're watching beside Baby?”

”I've never felt as if I could before, but I will, Mother Roberts, I will.”

”I lost my father and mother when I was quite small, and my grandparents raised my little brother and me. I never remember when they didn't have beer on the table for dinner and supper, and if company came in, they always treated them. If I didn't feel quite well or was tired, Grandmother would say, 'Have a drop of beer, Mary child, it'll do you good and put new life into you.' It took some time to get used to liking it. I didn't enjoy the bitter taste at first, but by and by I loved it--yes, really loved it.

”I grew up, and, like many another girl, had my young friends come calling. I liked Tom S---- best of all, and one day promised I'd marry him if the old folks would agree. They were awfully pleased, and _soon let Tom and me go about alone everywhere_. He was a baker, and a good one. Earned fine wages, so that I was expecting to have a very comfortable home.

”_I wish Grandmother or some one had talked plainly and honestly to me about a few things, but they didn't; so what did I know when Tom told me that in G.o.d's sight an engagement was as good as a marriage and that we'd soon, for the sake of appearances, and to comply with the law, go through that ceremony_. My G.o.d! Why didn't some one warn me? Oh! Mother Roberts, very few girls loved a man better than I loved Tom.

”By and by Grandmother says, 'What's become of Tom? I haven't seen him lately. I didn't know he'd left his job.' So I told her his work was slack and he'd gone away to hunt a place where he could get better pay.

You'll not be surprised to hear she soon grew suspicious, and one day I was obliged to confess.

”Did I tell you Tom drank beer? Oh yes, and enjoyed it with me and them many's the time.

”Was he a stranger to me and my folks when I first met him? Well, no, not exactly, although I must confess I knew very little about him before he was introduced by one of my girl friends at the baker's and confectioner's ball. _Oh but he was an elegant dancer! and that got me, in the first place._

”My! but didn't Grandmother take on something awful! She ordered me out of her sight up to my little bedroom till Grandfather should come home.

I sat there listening to her wailing and moaning and asking the dear Mother of G.o.d what she had done that such a cruel, cruel misfortune should have befallen her. Poor Granny! Mother Roberts, I was longing to go down and comfort her, but I durs'n't. So all that I could do was to walk the floor, or sit and cry. Sometimes I tried to tell my beads, but I couldn't take any pleasure in them. They didn't comfort my poor, sinful soul one bit. I wished I could die then and there, but what was the use? I couldn't, though I thought fear would indeed kill me when I heard Grandfather come in and knew Grandmother was telling him. I heard him raving and cursing while she was begging him to keep quiet for fear the neighbors would hear.