CHARLIE'S LAST DAYS.
"They who seek the throne of grace
Find that throne in every place;
If we live a life of prayer,
God is present everywhere."
That much dreaded disease, scarlet fever, was the unwelcome visitor to
many homes. Bessie was taken by it. While she was ill, Charlie was
kept from school, lest other children should take it of him. Often he
would steal over to the school house during school hours, and peep in
at the window, unobserved, to learn who stood first in his classes. He
often watched the spelling class as they stood up in recitation, could
tell each pupils' standing, but he himself dared not enter. Those
were long, long weeks for Charlie, that Bessie's illness continued.
She grew very, very sick. Sometimes it seemed her little life was
suspended on a silken thread,--a touch might cause it to snap, and she
would be gone forever.
Children converted are children still. Charlie was a boy, although a
Christian. Often he came softly into the house, and when he would meet
his mamma out of the sick room, he would say, "Don't you wish you had
left Bessie be baptized when she wanted to? Suppose she should die."
And his poor mother, almost broken down with care for her little girl,
was made sick at heart by questions like that.
On the doctor's daily visit Charlie met him at the gate, and would tie
his horse for him, and then come with him into the house.
Bessie had lain ill already four weeks. On Tuesday morning the doctor
tied his horse himself and came in alone. Charlie was sick. The doctor
said to him, "Well, Charlie, you've got it now. Does it scare you?"
"No sir, it don't scare me," he said, "but I hope I won't have to be
sick as long as Bessie."
Both were soon hanging in the balances, Bessie in one room, Charlie in
another. Charlie wanted to be taken over into Bessie's room, that they
both might be sick together.
Day and night the two little patients were closely watched. Charlie
was heard making a noise, and they listened to catch the voice. He was
suffering great pain but humming the tune in the hymnal, number
118,--not saying the words, but just humming the tune. Often he would
ease his pain with this heaven medicine. Twice he was heard to speak
distinctly. Once he said "Lord" and again it was "heaven." His lips
would move but no sound was heard. The sound was heard in heaven, I
suppose. Angels responded to the call of that little child of God. On
Friday morning, even before the rays of morning light began to come,
his spirit was borne away to be with Jesus in the heavenly land.
In the morning Bessie's papa was sitting by her bedside, looking sadly
on the little form of his only child. "Papa," she said "why don't you
have the door open in Charlie's room? He'll be so lonely with the door
shut." But he made no reply. "Papa," she continued "why do you stay
here with me? Take care of Charlie. I'm afraid he's going to die."
Little by little her papa told her then, all about it, and she bathed
her fevered pillow with her tears.
The doctor came. He knew the fact without being told, and he sat down
and wept.
Sunday, Charlie's little form was laid away to rest in the cemetery
at Waynesboro. And at the same time when that sorrowful little company
were journeying thither, the little readers of the _Young Disciple_
were reading his letter all over the land. The letter is given below,
but we will add the date, not the date that it was written, but the
date it was read, the date of his burial.
His life is closed in this world, but the influence of it will go on
forever. Three dates will tell the story of that life.
Birth, March 31, 1880.
Second Birth, Nov. 27, 1892.
Borne to glory, March 10, 1893.
THE LETTER.
Ringgold, Md.
March 12, 1893.
Our family consists of a dear kind papa and mama, sister Bessie
and myself. We all attend church and Sunday-school regularly. Our
Sunday school has closed for this season, but will open again in
the spring. Papa and mamma and myself are members of the Brethren
church. I am twelve years old. I am studying hard to get a good
education, and I hope to grow up to be a good man; and when Bro.
W. B. Stover goes to India, I feel as though I would like to go
out to him in his missionary work. I will close now by asking an
interest in the prayers of all the faithful.
Charlie Martin Newcomer.