ke gently.

"My poor woman, what can I do for you?"

"Nothing at all," she said, stolidly. "My heart's broke, and that's the
end of it. It don't make no difference what comes next, I'm done with
it."

"But, my poor friend, are you ready for what is coming to you?"

"You mean I'm dying, I s'pose. Yes, I know that, and it makes no kind of
difference. I've had enough of living, the land knows. Things can't be
worse with me than they are here."

And now John spoke eagerly.

"But don't you know that they can be better, that there is a home and
rest and peace waiting for you, and that the Lord Jesus Christ wants
you?"

"I don't know anything about them things. I might, I s'pose, if I'd been
a mind to. It's too late now, and I don't care about that, either.
Things _can't_ be worse, I tell you."

"It's _not_ too late; don't ruin yourself with that folly. The Lord is
all powerful. He can do _anything_. He doesn't need _time_ as men do.
He can save you _now_ just as well as he could last year. All you have
to do is to ask him; he will in no wise cast out; he 'is able to save to
the _uttermost_.' Believe on him, and the work is all done."

It is impossible to tell the eager energy with which these words were
poured forth by the man who saw that the purple shadows were creeping
and the time was short; but the same stony look still settled on the
listener's face, and she repeated with the indifference of despair--

"It's no use--my time is gone--it don't matter. My heart's broke, I tell
you, and I don't care."

"He _will_ save you if you will let him; he wants to. I can't tell you
how much he has promised to hear the very faintest, latest call. Say
'Lord Jesus forgive me' with all your heart, and the work is done."

A sudden change swept over the sick stolid face, a gleam of interest in
the dreary eyes, and she spoke with eagerness.

"Do you say he can do everything?"

"_Everything._ 'Whatever ye ask in my name, _believing_, ye shall
receive.' These are his own words."

"Does he believe in rum?"

"No!" promptly replied the startled, but strongly temperate John Birge.

"Then I'll pray," was the quick response. "I never prayed in my life,
but I will now; like enough I can save him yet. You folks think he can
hear everything that's said, don't you?"

Strangely moved as well as startled, her visitor answered her only by a
bow. The shaking hands were clasped, and in a clear firm voice the sick
woman spoke:

"O Lo