Punctual to the day and the hour, the missionary returned to Ned's
garret.
Much and earnestly had he prayed, in the meantime, that the man might be
guided in his search after truth, and that to himself might be given
words of wisdom which might have weight with him.
But the missionary's words were not now required.
God had spoken to the rough man by his own Word. The Holy Spirit had
carried conviction home.
He had also revealed the Saviour, and the man was converted before the
missionary again saw him. Reader, we present no fancy portrait to you.
Our fiction had its counterpart in actual life. Ned Frog, in essential
points at least, represents a real man--though we have, doubtless,
saddled on his broad shoulders a few unimportant matters, which perhaps
did not belong to him.
"I believe that this is God's Word, my friend," he said, extending his
hand, the moment the missionary entered, "and in proof of that I will
now ask you to kneel with me and pray."
You may be sure that the man of God complied gladly and with a full
heart.
We may not, however, trace here the after-course of this man in detail.
For our purpose it will suffice to say that this was no mere flash in
the pan. Ned Frog's character did not change. It only received a new
direction and a new impulse. The vigorous energy and fearless
determination with which he had in former days pursued sin and
self-gratification had now been turned into channels of righteousness.
Very soon after finding Jesus for himself, he began earnestly to desire
the salvation of others, and, in a quiet humble way, began with the poor
people in his own stair.
But this could not satisfy him. He was too strong both in body and mind
to be restrained, and soon took to open-air preaching.
"I'm going to begin a mission," he said, one day, to the missionary who
had brought him to the Saviour. "There are many stout able fellows here
who used to accept me as a leader in wickedness, and who will, perhaps,
agree to follow me in a new walk. Some of them have come to the Lord
already. I'm goin', sir, to get these to form a band of workers, and
we'll take up a district."
"Good," said the missionary, "there's nothing like united action. What
part of the district will you take up yourself, Ned?"
"The place where I stand, sir," he replied. "Where I have sinned there
will I preach to men the Saviour of sinners."
And he did preach, not with eloquence, perhaps, but with such fervour
that many of his old comrades were touched deeply, and some were brought
to Christ and joined his "Daniel Band." Moreover, Ned kept to his own
district and class. He did not assume that all rich church-goers are
hypocrites, and that it was his duty to stand in conspicuous places and
howl to them the message of salvation, in tones of rasping discord. No,
it was noted by his mates, as particularly curious, that the voice of
the man who could, when he chose, roar like a bull of Bashan, had become
soft and what we may style entreative in its tone. Moreover, he did not
try to imitate clerical errors. He did not get upon a deadly monotone
while preaching, as so many do. He simply _spoke_ when he preached--
spoke loud, no doubt, but in a tone precisely similar to that in which,
in former days, he would have seriously advised a brother burglar to
adopt a certain course, or to carefully steer clear of another course,
in order to gain his ends or to avoid falling into the hands of the
police. Thus men, when listening to him, came to believe that he was
really speaking to them in earnest, and not "preaching!"
Oh! that young men who aim at the high privilege of proclaiming the
"good news" would reflect on this latter point, and try to steer clear
of that fatal rock on which the Church--not the Episcopal, Presbyterian,
or any other Church, but the whole Church militant--has been bumping so
long to her own tremendous damage!
One point which told powerfully with those whom Ned sought to win was,
that he went about endeavouring, as far as in him lay, to undo the evil
that he had done. Some of it could never be undone--he felt that
bitterly. Some could be remedied--he rejoiced in that and went about it
with vigour.
For instance, he owed several debts. Being a handy fellow and strong,
he worked like a horse, and soon paid off his debts to the last
farthing. Again, many a time had he, in days gone by, insulted and
defamed comrades and friends. These he sought out with care and begged
their pardon. The bulldog courage in him was so strong that in former
days he would have struck or insulted any man who provoked him, without
reference to his, it might be, superior size or strength. He now went
as boldly forward to confess his sin and to apologise. Sometimes his
apologies were kindly received, at other times he was rudely repelled
and called a hypocrite in language that we may not repeat, but he took
it well; he resented nothing now, and used to say he had been made
invulnerable since he had enlisted under the banner of the Prince of
Peace.
Yet, strange to say, the man's pugilistic powers were not rendered
useless by his pacific life and profession.
One day he was passing down one of those streets where even the police
prefer to go in couples. Suddenly a door burst open and a poor drunken
woman was kicked out into the street by a big ruffian with whom Ned was
not acquainted. Not satisfied with what he had done, the rough
proceeded to kick the woman, who began to scream "murder!"
A crowd at once collected, for, although such incidents were common
enough in such places, they always possessed sufficient interest to draw
a crowd; but no one interfered, first, because no one cared, and,
second, because the man was so big and powerful that every one was
afraid of him.
Of course Ned interfered, not with an indignant statement that the man
ought to be ashamed of himself, but, with the quiet remark--
"She's only a woman, you know, an' can't return it."
"An' wot 'ave _you_ got to do with it?" cried the man with a savage
curse, as he aimed a tremendous blow at Ned with his right-hand.
Our pugilist expected that. He did not start or raise his hands to
defend himself, he merely put his head to one side, and the huge fist
went harmlessly past his ear. Savagely the rough struck out with the
other fist, but Ned quietly, yet quickly put his head to the other side,
and again the fist went innocently by. A loud laugh and cheer from the
crowd greeted this, for, apart altogether from the occasion of the
disagreement, this turning of the head aside was very pretty play on the
part of Ned--being a remarkably easy-looking but exceedingly difficult
action, as all boxers know. It enabled Ned to smile in the face of his
foe without doing him any harm. But it enraged the rough to such an
extent, that he struck out fast as well as hard, obliging Ned to put
himself in the old familiar attitude, and skip about smartly.
"I don't want to hurt you, friend," said Ned at last, "but I _can_, you
see!" and he gave the man a slight pat on his right cheek with one hand
and a tap on the forehead with the other.
This might have convinced the rough, but he would not be convinced. Ned
therefore gave him suddenly an open-handed slap on the side of the head
which sent him through his own doorway; through his own kitchen--if we
may so name it--and into his own coal-cellar, where he measured his
length among cinders and domestic _debris_.
"I didn't want to do it, friends," said Ned in a mild voice, as soon as
the laughter had subsided, "but, you see, in the Bible--a book I'm
uncommon fond of--we're told, as far as we can, to live peaceably with
all men. Now, you see, I couldn't live peaceably wi' this man to-day.
He wouldn't let me, but I think I'll manage to do it some day, for I'll
come back here to-morrow, and say I'm sorry I had to do it. Meanwhile I
have a word to say to you about this matter."
Here Ned got upon the door-step of his adversary, and finished off by
what is sometimes styled "improving the occasion."
Of course, one of the first things that Ned Frog did, on coming to his
"right mind," was to make earnest and frequent inquiries as to the fate
of his wife and family. Unfortunately the man who might have guided him
to the right sources of information--the City missionary who had brought
him to a knowledge of the truth--was seized with a severe illness, which
not only confined him to a sick-bed for many weeks, but afterwards
rendered it necessary that he should absent himself for a long time from
the sphere of his labours. Thus, being left to himself, Ned's search
was misdirected, and at last he came to the heart-breaking conclusion
that they must have gone, as he expressed it, "to the bad;" that perhaps
his wife had carried out her oft-repeated threat, and drowned herself,
and that Bobby, having been only too successful a pupil in the ways of
wickedness, had got himself transported.
To prosecute his inquiries among his old foes, the police, was so
repugnant to Ned that he shrank from it, after the failure of one or two
attempts, and the only other source which might have been successful he
failed to appeal to through his own ignorance. He only knew of George
Yard and the Home of Industry by name, as being places which he had
hated, because his daughter Hetty was so taken up with them. Of course
he was now aware that the people of George Yard did good work for his
new Master, but he was so ignorant of the special phase of their work at
the beginning of his Christian career that he never thought of applying
to them for information. Afterwards he became so busy with his own
special work, that he forgot all about these institutions.
When the missionary recovered and returned to his work, he at once--on
hearing for the first time from Ned his family history--put him on the
scent, and the discovery was then made that they had gone to Canada. He
wrote immediately, and soon received a joyful reply from Hetty and a
postscript from Bobby, which set his heart singing and his soul ablaze
with gratitude to a sparing and preserving God.
About that time, however, the robust frame gave way under the amount of
labour it was called on to perform. Ned was obliged to go into
hospital. When there he received pressing invitations to go out to
Canada, and offers of passage-money to any extent. Mrs Frog also
offered to return home without delay and nurse him, and only waited to
know whether he would allow her.
Ned declined, on the ground that he meant to accept their invitation and
go to Canada as soon as he was able to undertake the voyage.
A relapse, however, interfered with his plans, and thus the visit, like
many other desirable events in human affairs, was, for a time, delayed.