_MR. KERR AND HIS FAMILY._
Upon one occasion, as the missionary was passing through the western
portion of Clear Creek Settlement, he called at a house whose
surroundings seemed familiar. The man of the house, too, appeared to
him as one he had seen before, but he could not remember exactly where.
After some general remarks, he said to the man, “I almost fancy that I
have seen you before to-day.”
“I suppose you have,” the man replied, with considerable agitation; and
continued, “Do you not remember some time ago, standing at a gate and
requesting a farmer to allow you to stay all night, and being refused,
and that there was another man there beside the owner of the place?”
The missionary said he did.
“And you remember, also, that you gave a little boy and girl some
picture-cards and tracts?”
“I do,” said the missionary.
“And one for each of the men at the barn?”
“Yes, I well remember that.”
“I was that man,” said he, somewhat confused, “and when Mr. Steele
refused to let you stay, I, like a coward, approved of it. Don’t you
remember?”
“Yes, I believe you did,” gently replied the missionary.
“Yes, I did that very wicked thing, and now ask your pardon. I have had
no rest since, on account of it,” said the man with emotion.
“I have long since forgiven you,” calmly replied the missionary. “Such
things do not move me; I count them as nothing.”
“If you had suffered what I did from them, you would count them a good
deal. I heard you preach last Sunday, and if I had not been ashamed,
I would have made a public confession of my wickedness. I thank God
that you have come this way,” continued the humbled man with faltering
voice, and stretching out his hand for reconciliation and forgiveness.
Joyfully the servant of Christ gave Mr. Kerr (whom our readers must
have recognized) his hand, and their friendship was sealed.
Mrs. Kerr, who had been absent at the time of the missionary’s arrival,
now came in. She recognized him at once, and welcomed him with
unfeigned kindness.
“Where in the world have you been since you were here last month?”
inquired the free-spoken woman. “I wondered and wondered,” she
continued, “what had become of you in the big storm. I expected nothing
else than to hear that you got killed in that dreadful rain. It was
awful! I declare I thought our house would go!”
“Oh,” pleasantly replied the missionary, “I put up without ‘leave or
license,’ at a hut out on Walnut Creek, where I was taken care of.”
“Why, nobody lives out there that I know of,” said Mr. Kerr. “Let me
see; was it about due west from where you left us?”
“Very nearly, I think,” said the missionary, at the same time smiling.
“Well, sir, I know of but one family that ever lived in that swampy,
sickly, mosquito hole, and two or three of them died there and the rest
moved away long ago,” replied Mr. Kerr, instantly adding, “What is the
man’s name that lives there?”
“Indeed I cannot give the name,” answered the missionary, with such
a look of mischief that Mrs. Kerr declared that he was only joking.
“It was at the place you mention, no doubt, that I staid. There were
two graves on a hill near the house, which was in a very dilapidated
condition, and the yard was overgrown with weeds and briars; indeed,
everything presented the appearance of having been long deserted.”
“That was Mr. Kelly’s home once, but the mosquitoes and chills drove
him out. It was well he left, or the whole family would soon have
perished there. It is a poor country compared with this,” explained Mr.
Kerr.
“But you said that you were well taken care of; I’d like to know who
took care of you,” said Mrs. Kerr, with a mischievous twinkle in her
eyes.
“The Lord took care of me,” he replied.
“Oh, yes, I did not think of that;” said she. “Did you keep dry in the
old hut in that dreadful storm?” she added; and in the same breath
continued, “Didn’t you think the whole thing would blow down over your
head?”
“I was pretty well sheltered from the wind and rain, but I really did
think more than once that all would go down.”
“I was sure our house was gone,” earnestly resumed Mrs. Kerr, “and I
expected nothing else than the death of all of us.”
“When we are ready,” he replied, “death is no evil.”
This practical reply rather embarrassed her, and for a moment she was
at a loss to know what to say next; so he continued:
“To crush the body is a matter of little consequence; but the soul, the
immortal being that inhabits this house of clay, is of immense value.
Could we fully realize the fact that nothing dies but the clay we
inhabit, we would not dread the change.”
Mrs. Kerr listened attentively, but made no reply.
“Will you be so kind as to give us an account of your troubles on that
dreadful night?” asked Mr. Kerr.
“Certainly,” said he, and he related to them the long list of trials,
dangers and privations through which he had passed.
Tears more than once filled the eyes of the eager listeners. “And now,”
said Mr. Kerr, after the missionary had finished, “I must give you
some of my experience since we parted. If you remember one of the cards
you gave the children, read, ‘And these shall go away into everlasting
punishment, but the righteous into life eternal;’ _that_ fell into my
hands. When I read those words the irresistible conviction struck me
that _I_ would be one of ‘_these_,’ and a fearful looking for judgment
to come took hold of me. All the way home I seemed to hear the words,
‘And these shall go away into everlasting punishment.’ I wished again
and again that I had only taken you with me; or at least have defended
you against the unreasonableness of Mr. Steele. But that was now too
late, and I groaned under the lashes of my guilty conscience. Upon
reaching home, my wife told me that you had been here and prayed with
the family. I suffered greatly, and was at length compelled to ‘own up’
to my wife, who soon discovered that all was not right with me--and she
strongly condemned my action.” Mr. Kerr did not cease speaking until he
had made a full confession of the humiliation he had experienced from a
guilty conscience.
The missionary could not but be moved at the penitent recital; yet he
rejoiced that Mr. Kerr was at last led to the true and only source of
comfort.
After uniting in prayer with the family, the missionary inquired if
they had been to the Sunday-school.
“Oh yes,” heartily replied Mr. Kerr, “we were all over last Sunday, and
had a delightful time.”
“No doubt; indeed, no one with proper feelings, and a regard for the
eternal interests of his children or the children of others, can help
being benefited and highly delighted in a well-ordered Sunday-school,”
said the good man with emphasis; adding, “have the books and papers for
which they sent, come?”
“They have,” rejoined Mr. Kerr, “and I verily thought the whole
school would go wild when the box was opened. Indeed, I was myself
considerably excited; and when each one received a book and a paper,
I really could not refrain from shedding tears, in witnessing the
uncontrollable delight that filled every heart; and I reproached myself
with bitterness for having been so cowardly as not to defend this noble
institution, when you and it were assailed by Mr. Steele. To-day, I
thank God for the Sunday-school! and I know that every family that
attends it thanks God for it.”
“May God, the Divine Author of this institution, foster and bless it to
the salvation of all who attend it, or are within its holy influence!”
said the delighted missionary; adding, “how is that gentleman who was
with you at the gate getting along?”
“Oh, pretty well; but he doesn’t take any stock in Sunday-schools--he
is very angry at me for attending, and won’t speak to me.”
“We must pray God to give us grace to bear with him, and try to gain
him to our confidence,” said the missionary.
The day was passing, and the good man would have gone on, but Mr. Kerr
and his wife would not hear to it, insisting that he should remain, at
least over night; so he consented to remain until morning.
By the side of the looking-glass, in the room which he occupied, he
found hanging a framed card, containing the text, “And these shall go
away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal.”
Underneath was written in a plain hand, “Saved by grace, through this
little card. James Kerr.”
Here was a secret. Mr. Kerr attributed his conversion to the teaching
of this silent monitor. What a momentous result can hang upon an
insignificant cause! It is said, that “the obstruction of a straw at
the fountain-head, may change the channel of a mighty river.” Never
should we despise the day of small things.
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