The boy was Robert Moffat. He watched the trembling old man. His soul was
filled with loving sympathy. He went to him, and laid his hand on his black
gown.
"Well, Robert?" said the minister.
"Do you think if I were willing to work hard for an education, I could ever
become a preacher?"
"A preacher?"
"Perhaps a missionary."
There was a long pause. Tears filled the eyes of the old minister. At
length he said: "This heals the ache in my heart, Robert. I see the divine
hand now. May God bless you, my boy. Yes, I think you will become a
preacher."
Some few years ago there returned to London from Africa an aged missionary.
His name was spoken with reverence. When he went into an assembly, the
people rose. When he spoke in public, there was a deep silence. Priests
stood uncovered before him; nobles invited him to their homes.
He had added a province to the church of Christ on earth; had brought under
the gospel influence the most savage of African chiefs; had given the
translated Bible to strange tribes; had enriched with valuable knowledge
the Royal Geographical Society; and had honored the humble place of his
birth, the Scottish kirk, the United Kingdom, and the universal missionary
cause.
It is hard to trust when no evidence of fruit appears. But the harvests of
right intentions are sure. The old minister sleeps beneath the trees in the
humble place of his labors, but men remember his work because of what he
was to one boy, and what that one boy was to the world.
"Do thou thy work: it shall succeed
In thine or in another's day;
And if denied the victor's meed,
Thou shalt not miss the toiler's pay."
--_Youth's Companion_.