s gone, and they carried her body away to the
cemetery. The little fellow followed her to the grave. He saw where
they laid her, and then he came back to the house.

But he found it very lonely, and when it grew dark he got afraid and
could not stay in the house. He went out and sat down on the step and
began to weep. Finally he went back to the cemetery, and finding the
lot where his mother was buried, he laid down and wept himself to
sleep.

Next morning a stranger passing that way found him on the grave, still
weeping. "What are you doing here, my boy?" "Waiting for the Savior."
The man wanted to know what he meant, and the boy told the story of
what his mother had said to him. It touched the heart of the stranger,
and he said, "Well, my boy, Jesus has sent me to take care of you."
The boy looked up and replied: "You have been a long while coming."

If we had the love of our Master do you tell me that these outlying
masses would not be reached? There is not a drunkard who would not be
reached. There is not a poor fallen one, or a blasphemer, or an
atheist, but would be influenced for good. The atheists cannot get
over the power of love. It will upset atheism and every false system
quicker than anything else. Nothing will break the stubborn heart so
quickly as the love of Christ.

I was in a certain home a few years ago; one of the household was a
boy who, I noticed, was treated like one of the family, and yet he did
not bear their name. One night I asked the lady of the house to
explain to me what it meant. "I have noticed," I said, "that you treat
him exactly like your own children, yet he is not your boy." "Oh no,"
she said, "he is not. It is quite true I treat him as my own child."

She went on to tell me his story. His father and mother were American
missionaries in India; they had five children. The time came when the
children had to be sent away from India, as they could not be educated
there. They were to be sent to America for that purpose. The father
and mother had been very much blessed in India, but they felt as
though they could not give up their children. They thought they would
leave their work in the foreign field and go back to America.

They were not blessed to the same extent in working at home as they
had been in India. The natives were writing to them to return, and by
and by they decided that the call was so loud the father must go back.
The mother said to him: "I cannot let you go alone; I