thirst was a perfect agony; and my poor
dog followed at my heels, her tongue hanging out, and her sides panting
pitifully. We had not seen water for several days. I sat down under a
great gum-tree, hoping that an hour's rest would bring me fresh heart
and new vigor. I must have fallen asleep. When I awoke, Fan was standing
near me, wagging her tail. She seemed contented and satisfied; her
tongue no longer protruded. An hour or two later, I suddenly missed her;
she had vanished in the scrub. She was away about twenty minutes. I
determined to watch her. Presently she set out again, and I followed.
Surely enough, she had found a tiny spring in a slight hollow about half
a mile away; and by that spring we were saved.'

I have seen something like this in a higher realm. I recall, for
example, Richard Cecil's story of his conversion. Richard Cecil--the
friend and biographer of John Newton--was one of the great evangelical
forces of the _eighteenth_ century, as Catherine Booth was of the
_nineteenth_. But, in his early days, Richard Cecil was a skeptic. He
called himself an infidel, but he was honest in his infidelity. He could
face facts; and the man who can look facts fairly in the face is not far
from the kingdom of God. Richard Cecil was not, his skepticism
notwithstanding. 'I see,' he says, in telling us of the line of thought
that he pursued as he lay in bed one night, 'I see two unquestionable
facts.' And what were they? They both concerned his mother.

'_First_, my mother is greatly afflicted in circumstances, body and
mind; and I see that she cheerfully bears up under all her suffering by
the support that she derives from constantly retiring to her quiet room
and her Bible.

'_Second_, my mother has a secret spring of comfort of which I know
nothing; while I, who give an unbounded loose to my appetites, and seek
pleasure by every means, seldom or never find it. If, however, there is
any such secret in religion, why may I not attain to it as well as my
mother? I will immediately seek it!'

He did; and those who are familiar with his life-story know of the
triumphant result of that quest. It was precisely so with Mrs. Booth.
Her children knew that, like the bushman's collie, she found refreshment
at some secret spring. Later on, she told them of the text and led them,
one by one, to the fountains of grace. '_My grace is sufficient for
thee._' And when, at last, the avenues of speech and hearing were
closed, they hun