PRESENTED TO 
 
 For 'Hjesi~- efforts in aid of the WEST 
 BOWLING CIRCUIT SUNDAY SCHOOLS' 
 JUVENILE MISSIONARY FUND. 
 
 ^U^4^4jt^tS^ 
 
^5 
 
The Little Orphans discovered. 
 
THE 
 
 /^J 
 
 (MOTHERLESS i 
 
 AND 
 
 WHO SHEIhTE^ED THfJJVL 
 
 THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY: 
 
 56, Paternoster Row; 65, St. Paul's Churchyard; and 
 164, Piccadilly. 
 
coKte.Hts. 
 
 i. Motherless and Homeless 
 
 ii. The Door on the Latch 
 
 hi. The Ragged School 
 
 iv. Bessie and her Teacher 
 
 v. Seaside Pleasures . 
 
 vi. The Harbour of Refuge 
 
 vii. Found after Many Days . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 5 
 15 
 
 . 23 
 37 
 
 • 5o 
 59 
 
 . 76 
 
 953467 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/motherlessbairnsOOreli 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 | tons a %txmx$zx, mo g£ took p* in." 
 
 Gii 
 
 t was a sharp, frosty night late in 
 @=> December, the wind driving the snow 
 in unfriendly gusts into the faces of the 
 passers-by, and compelling all who were 
 not actually obliged to encounter its violence 
 
6 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 to seek as speedily as possible the shelter 
 of their own homes. 
 
 At the corner of a street leading out of 
 one of the many crowded thoroughfares in 
 the heart of the city, stood an old-fashioned 
 crockery shop, from the inner parlour of 
 which the cheerful glow of a coke fire, 
 reflected on the window-panes, made the 
 darkness without only seem more dreary 
 and desolate. Unmindful of wind and 
 snow, two little faces might have been seen 
 closely pressed against the window, eagerly 
 gazing on a sight which greeted their eyes 
 through the glass door separating the shop 
 from the room behind. The muslin blind, 
 which usually hung before it to screen those 
 within from the gaze of the outer world, 
 had accidentally dropped, and left to view 
 a cheerful group, consisting of father, 
 mother, and several children, seated at 
 their evening meal. 
 
 The kettle singing on the fire, the cat 
 comfortably lying on the snug hearth, the 
 
The Motherless Bairns. J 
 
 clean white cloth, with the neat cups and 
 saucers, the home-made cake, and bread- 
 and-butter, above all, the happy faces of 
 the children, did not escape the eager notice 
 of the poor little wanderers, whose own 
 sad experience of life might have been 
 summed up in the few short but expressive 
 words — hungry and cold, motherless and 
 homeless. 
 
 It was the old story, alas, only too 
 common, of sin, suffering, and sorrow ; the 
 drunkard husband going away, and leaving 
 the poor, worn-out, sorrow and care-stricken 
 wife to die in a miserable garret, and the 
 friendless little ones turned out alone on 
 the world, which seemed to them so large 
 and dreary. Sleeping now on a doorstep, 
 now under one of the numerous railway 
 arches, too often the only refuge of the 
 homeless and destitute, in the daytime 
 begging a few halfpence, or some scant 
 crusts, growing every day more dirty and 
 more forlorn ; no wonder that the sight of 
 
8 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 a home which seemed to them (unac- 
 customed to aught but want and woe) rich 
 in all that could be desired, should arrest 
 their eyes and make them gaze on wistfully, 
 forgetful of wind and cold. 
 
 No such home had ever been for them ; 
 their earliest remembrances were of a dark, 
 damp cellar, a cruel father, and a sorrowful 
 and ailing mother; their latest of an old 
 tumble-down garret, where that mother lay 
 dying, without proper nourishment or kind, 
 loving care — no voice to whisper to her of 
 a Saviour's love, or to bear to her heart 
 the glad tidings which could have shed a 
 light over the dark valley. Mingled with 
 these came the remembrances of the coarse 
 tones of the rough woman, who, as soon as 
 their mother was buried, had pushed them 
 into the street, telling them to " be gone, 
 and never to darken her doorway again, 
 the good-for-nothing brats." 
 
 After gazing intently for some time at 
 the happy scene before them, the elder 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 9 
 
 of the two children, by a sudden, irresistible 
 impulse, at length darted up the steps, and 
 softly turning the handle of the door, crept 
 inside the shop, the younger one clinging 
 to her sister's arm. Crouching down in a 
 corner, where they hoped to escape ob- 
 servation, but with eyes and ears both on 
 the alert, they bent forward to catch the 
 sound of what was passing in the inner 
 room. For a moment all seemed to be 
 quiet, and then the father's voice was heard 
 reading aloud. They saw the children 
 seated round the table, the elder ones 
 reading in turn, while the younger sat by, 
 quietly listening. They could even dis- 
 tinguish some of the words, but, alas, they 
 were no familiar tones which fell on the 
 ears of the little beggar children ; they 
 heard something about a Father pitying 
 His children, and, as the words were read, 
 instinctively the younger child whispered, 
 " That's not our father. Whose father can 
 that be ? " 
 
jo The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 " Hush ! " softly said the elder one, " or 
 they will hear us, and then we shall be 
 turned out." 
 
 At that moment the outer door opened, 
 and another customer coming in, Mr. 
 Morley, the owner of the shop, stepped 
 out from behind the glass door. It was 
 only a message respecting some order 
 which had been given earlier in the day ; 
 and no light being required, the trembling 
 children remained in security in their 
 hiding-place. At length, overcome by 
 fatigue, cold, and hunger, they fell asleep 
 in one another's arms, the younger child 
 whispering, as she kissed her sister, " I 
 wish, Polly, we might stay here every 
 night, instead of sleeping out in the cold." 
 
 Poor little ones ! Uncared for on earth, 
 and deserted by the father who should 
 have watched over them with tender care 
 and love, but not uncared for up in heaven, 
 where even the little birds do not escape 
 notice. All unseen by them, there was 
 
The Motherless Bairns, n 
 
 bending down over those sleeping children 
 an Eye which never slumbers nor sleeps ; 
 and even now, when they thought them- 
 selves friendless in the wide world, their 
 Father in heaven did not forget them, but 
 was guiding their feet into the way of peace, 
 and disposing the hearts of His servants 
 to receive in His name and for His sake 
 these forlorn and weary outcasts, the little 
 ones for whom Jesus died, and whom He 
 is ever ready to "receive favourably and 
 to embrace with the arms of His mercy." 
 
 As Mr. Morley was putting up his 
 shutters that night, and seeing that all was 
 safe in the shop, he caught his foot, and 
 stumbled over some plates which had been 
 piled on the floor; and on bringing a candle 
 to discover what mischief had been caused, 
 he caught sight of what seemed to him a 
 bundle of rags heaped together under a 
 shelf. Great was the good man's astonish- 
 ment, on a closer inspection, to discover 
 
12 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 beneath the rags the forms of the sleeping 
 children. Hastily calling his wife, and 
 carefully shading the light with his hand, 
 he stooped down and examined their faces. 
 Traces of tears could easily be seen on the 
 cheeks of the elder, who appeared to be 
 about eleven years of age, and the most 
 hasty glance at either could not have failed 
 to discover many unmistakeable signs of 
 want, hunger, and poverty. 
 
 Touched with tender pity for the forlorn 
 little ones, Mr. and Mrs. Morley consulted 
 together as to what they should do for 
 them. " Surely the Lord Himself has 
 brought them within the shelter of our 
 roof ; and it's a mercy to think they reached 
 it in safety, for with the wind and snow 
 driving as they are, there's no telling 
 whether the poor little creatures would 
 have lived to see the light of another day." 
 Then, hurrying upstairs, the kind-hearted 
 woman speedily returned with a warm 
 blanket from her own bed, and wrapped it 
 
The Motlierless Bairns. 13 
 
 carefully round the little sleepers, dis- 
 coursing to herself the while. 
 
 " Certainly they might have slept in the 
 attic, up at the top ; but then there's the 
 fear lest they might have felt frightened 
 like at finding themselves in a strange bed, 
 or at being woke of a sudden — no, John's 
 right ; John always knows best. Well, 
 thank the Lord for keeping the poor babes 
 from perishing on a night like this ; and 
 thank Him too for giving us, just now, 
 when our hearts are sorely yearning after 
 our own little one in the heavenly fold, 
 something to do for His lambs still in a 
 world of sin and sorrow." 
 
 A tear stood in the good woman's eye 
 as she spoke. Only a few months back 
 she had known what it was to part with 
 the little child that had twined itself round 
 her mother's heart in no ordinary way — 
 loving little Lily ; so sweet and gentle, 
 with such endearing ways, and taken after 
 an illness of only a few days, leaving a 
 
14 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 sore blank behind. The tender mother's 
 heart seemed to open at once to the little 
 friendless ones whom God had led to her 
 door ; and she lay awake long that night, 
 planning how to do the best for them, 
 should it prove, as she felt in her own 
 mind persuaded, that they were homeless 
 and destitute. 
 
 Surely that night, over the homely 
 dwelling, a heavenly smile was resting, 
 even the blessing of Him who has said in 
 His own holy Book : " Verily I say unto 
 you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
 one of the least of these My brethren, ye 
 have done it unto Me." 
 
i5 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " ft is not i\z foxll ai %anx Jfa%r fofntjr k in. (ttnta 
 tjrat mte of %S£ little ouzb sljawlb pmsfj." 
 
 feyTiTH her mind full of concern and kind 
 cffiX thoughts for the poor little strangers, 
 Mrs. Morley rose early the next morning, 
 and hastily dressing, went down before 
 rousing her own children, to see whether 
 they were still sleeping. To her great 
 astonishment, on opening the door of the 
 shop, and unfastening the shutters, they 
 were nowhere to be found. In the corner 
 lay the blanket she had so carefully 
 wrapped round them the night before, but 
 no trace of the children could be seen. 
 On examining the bolt of the front door, 
 she saw that it had been slipped back, and 
 that they must evidently have gone out 
 before it was light, probably fearing to 
 encounter the cross words, or even blows, 
 
1 6 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 which had hitherto repulsed them from 
 door after door where they had sought 
 shelter. 
 
 Good Mrs. Morley blamed herself greatly 
 for not having carried them upstairs to the 
 attic ; and both she and her husband were 
 sorely grieved to think of the poor children 
 wandering perhaps without food, shelter, or 
 friend. "We'll leave the door unlatched 
 again to-night, and maybe they'll come 
 back to the place where they once found 
 shelter and warmth. Poor things ! it's a 
 wonder they didn't take the blanket, with 
 only those few thin rags scarcely covering 
 them. I had been looking out some of 
 our Lily's things for them : it cost me 
 something to go to that drawer this 
 morning, and take them out one by one ; 
 but a verse came into my mind, which 
 helped me to give them up : ' Neither will 
 I offer unto the Lord my God of that 
 which doth cost me nothing;' and then it 
 seemed quite easy to take my darling's 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 17 
 
 things and give them to Him who has 
 said, ' Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
 one of the least of these, ye have done it 
 unto Me.' And so now, whether these 
 little ones come again to us or not, my 
 mind is made up, and Lily's things shall 
 be given to some of the needy ones whom 
 the Good Shepherd is going out to seek 
 in the wilderness, and bring back to His 
 heavenly fold." 
 
 When breakfast was over, Mr. Morley 
 called his children ; and after reading a 
 chapter with them as usual, and asking for 
 a heavenly blessing on each, before they 
 set off for school or work, he told them of 
 the little wanderers who had found a 
 shelter under their roof the night before, 
 and asked them to pray each night and 
 morning that God their Father would 
 fetch home these poor children to His 
 blessed fold on earth, and give them a 
 place in His heavenly kingdom. 
 
 The children all listened with much 
 
1 8 The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 interest to their father's account. Susie, 
 the eldest girl, was a pupil-teacher in the 
 school where her younger sister and brother 
 went, and on Sunday afternoons took a 
 class in a ragged-school not far distant; 
 and she had learned to feel a tender love 
 for the poor little ones for whom the Lord 
 Jesus died, but who, until they came to the 
 school, had heard but little of a Saviour's 
 love. 
 
 Elsie, the second girl, had left school, 
 and helped her mother at home and in the 
 shop ; Alice and Johnny went every day 
 to school under Susie's care; and Daisy, 
 the third girl, was an invalid. Crippled in 
 body by a fall when quite young, but not 
 in mind nor heart nor understanding, Daisy, 
 whose weak and feeble frame had long 
 since ceased to grow, grew in grace and 
 heavenly wisdom year by year. In her 
 quiet corner by the fireside, or oftener 
 lying on the little couch, to which she was 
 sometimes kept for weeks together, her 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 19 
 
 sweet and peaceful face was a constant 
 lesson to the busy ones around her, and 
 all who knew her, old and young, would 
 tell how the heavenly-minded child had 
 often helped and cheered them on their 
 way. Daisy would knit socks and com- 
 forters for Susie's ragged children; and 
 though she could not go out to teach them 
 of the loving Saviour, as her sister did, she 
 could speak to Him for them, and many a 
 silent prayer went up for them from Daisys 
 heart into the ears of Him who so tenderly 
 listens to the voices of little children : 
 
 "For He loves His little children, 
 And He pleadeth for them there, 
 Asking the great God of heaven 
 That their sins may be forgiven; 
 And He hears the prayer." 
 
 When Susan came home from her class 
 on Sunday afternoons, Daisy was always 
 full of eager questions about the children, 
 and would lie with her large eyes fixed 
 
20 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 on her sister, as she told of the poor little 
 ones whom she was trying to teach about 
 Jesus. 
 
 Susie had gentle ways, and loved her 
 little sister dearly, and devoted much of 
 her spare time to her; while Daisy in 
 return unconsciously taught her elder 
 sister many a lesson of patient submission 
 and quiet trust. For never can the life of 
 any one, however young, feeble, and ap- 
 parently helpless, that is really united to 
 Jesus Christ by living faith, be spent in 
 vain. "The fruit of the righteous is a 
 tree of life;" and whether that fruit be 
 manifested in active service or in patient 
 suffering, it shall not be in vain in the 
 Lord. After all, it is not so much our 
 work as our will that God asks and desires 
 of us — the offering up of ourselves as a 
 reasonable, holy, and lively sacrifice ; and 
 the little child that day by day looks up 
 to heaven, and tries from love to Jesus 
 to be gentle, loving, and obedient, or to 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 21 
 
 bear with quiet patience the weary pain 
 which keeps it still and lonely when other 
 children are at their merry pastimes, does 
 not live in vain, but is bringing forth the 
 fruit of righteousness, to the praise and 
 glory of God. 
 
 Weeks and months went by; but no 
 more was seen or heard of the little 
 strangers, though night after night the 
 Morleys door was left unlatched, in the 
 hope of their return ; and every day when 
 the children gathered round the hearth the 
 father ended his petitions with an earnest 
 prayer that the little lost ones might one 
 day be found, either on earth or in heaven. 
 
 Daisy's confidence that God would hear, 
 and that some day they would be brought 
 back, was unshaken, though day after day 
 passed by without bringing anything further 
 to light about them. " Our prayer-children," 
 she would call them ; and perhaps few little 
 beggar children ever had so many loving 
 
22 
 
 The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 thoughts bestowed on them, so many sweet 
 prayers breathed upwards into the ears of 
 the Lord of heaven and earth, prayers that 
 were not spoken in vain, but which were 
 even now preparing a harvest of blessing. 
 
23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " gUjofce foiife Ifc for I (rafa fotmb pg slje*p fo$xc{) 
 foas lost." 
 
 fT was a bright Sunday in July, and the 
 bells of some of the neighbouring 
 churches were ringing for afternoon service, 
 as Susan Morley, after leaving her little 
 brother and sister at the door of their school, 
 made her way through some narrow bye- 
 streets to the little ragged-school that was 
 so dear to her heart, and from which on 
 Sunday afternoons for the last four years 
 nothing had ever kept her absent. 
 
 It was a rough-looking place, which had 
 formerly been used as a coal-shed ; but 
 loving hands had hung the walls with sweet 
 texts and pictures, and transformed it into 
 a pleasant-looking place within ; while the 
 humble appearance of its exterior had this 
 advantage, that it attracted, while a grander 
 
24 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 building would have frightened away, the 
 very class of children it was so desirable to 
 get hold of. 
 
 A stranger going in that afternoon, as 
 he looked round on the clean faces of the 
 children, and marked their generally tidy 
 appearance, and quiet orderly behaviour, 
 might have questioned the fact of its being 
 a ragged school. Very different was the 
 appearance of the children who attended 
 it ten years previously, when it was first 
 opened through the loving thoughts and 
 efforts of some kind friends who had 
 laboured earnestly in behalf of the lost 
 little ones ; and very different was the 
 neighbourhood generally then, from what 
 it now was. Through those years of 
 patient toil and prayer the earnest workers 
 had seen, at first perhaps only dimly, here 
 and there tokens for good to bid them not 
 be weary in well-doing ; but now, in look- 
 ing back, they could feel how the good 
 hand of their God had indeed been upon 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 25 
 
 them, and multiplied the seed sown a 
 hundredfold. To homes once sunk in 
 darkness and ignorance had the blessed 
 light been carried, and little children, 
 taught of Jesus, had borne home to their 
 parents the glad tidings of great joy, and 
 taught the lips which first taught them to 
 speak the words of eternal life. Thus had 
 the wilderness been turned into a fruitful 
 field ; and in the day of the harvest those 
 patient sowers shall doubtless come again 
 with rejoicing, bringing their sheaves with 
 them. 
 
 As Susan opened the door of the school, 
 a group of children followed her in ; and 
 on taking her place in the class, a little girl 
 stepped forward, and curtseying, said : 
 " Please, teacher, you told us last Sunday 
 that we were to try and say 'come' to 
 somebody else, and on the way here I saw 
 two little girls standing at the corner of our 
 street, and I asked them if they wouldn't 
 like to come to school with me, and hear 
 
26 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 what teacher would tell us about Jesus, and 
 they said they'd like to come, only they'd 
 got such ragged things, they didn't like 
 to come in, because, perhaps, the ladies 
 would be angry, and send them away ; but 
 I said you didn't mind how ragged we 
 were, if only we came. But when they 
 got near the school they looked frightened, 
 and said they couldn't come, unless so be 
 I asked leave for them. Oh ! can I fetch 
 them in, teacher ? I said I was sure you'd 
 say 'Yes.'" 
 
 The eager request was soon granted ; 
 and before many minutes the child returned, 
 leading, one on either side of her, the poor 
 children for whom she had pleaded. They 
 were indeed ragged, and the sad, pinched 
 look on both faces told of the privations 
 they must have suffered. Susan spoke to 
 them very kindly, and, gradually reassured 
 by her gentle voice and manner, they 
 gained confidence, and ventured to look 
 round them. When prayers were over, and 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 27 
 
 the other children had said their texts and 
 hymns, Susan turned to the little strangers 
 and asked them a few simple questions; 
 amongst others, whether they had ever 
 
 heard of heaven ? The elder of the two 
 looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, 
 and then said, " Isn't that the place where 
 nobody wants nothing to eat or drink ?" 
 
28 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 Deeply touched by an answer which 
 told so much, in a few short words, of the 
 suffering and want with which they were 
 evidently so early familiarised, but unwilling 
 to show what she felt, Susan answered : 
 " Quite right, dear ; heaven is a place 
 where nobody wants for anything; every 
 one there is quite happy. But can you tell 
 me how we may get there ? " 
 
 No responsive word or look came this 
 time from either of the little new-comers ; 
 but amongst Susan's own children many 
 a hand was held out, and when she made 
 a sign to one of them to answer, a little 
 girl named Jane Hardy said, " Please, 
 teacher, for Jesus Christ's sake." 
 
 " Quite right, dear ; but now tell me 
 what you mean when you say, ' for Jesus 
 Christ's sake.' " 
 
 " Please, teacher, because Jesus came 
 down from heaven to die for our sins ; and 
 if our sins are forgiven for His sake, and 
 our naughty hearts changed by His Holy 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 29 
 
 Spirit, we shall go to heaven when we 
 die." 
 
 " That's right, dear; it is only because of 
 our Saviour Christ's great love in leaving 
 His home above, and coming down to our 
 earth to live and die for us, that we can 
 have any sure and certain hope of ever 
 reaching heaven. You know the little 
 verse which says — 
 
 'And this, not for any good thing we have done, 
 But all for the sake of His well-beloved Son.' 
 
 And now tell me if Jesus is willing to 
 receive little children into His beautiful 
 home." 
 
 Several hands were held out, and almost 
 with one voice the children answered : 
 " Suffer the little children to come unto Me, 
 and forbid them not, for of such is the 
 kingdom of heaven." 
 
 Susan then told the children to turn to 
 their Bibles ; and, after reading with them 
 the parable of the lost sheep, she told 
 
30 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 them as simply as possible, how Jesus is 
 the Good Shepherd who goes out after the 
 lost sheep, and never rests until He has 
 found them ; how by the " lost sheep " are 
 meant those who have not known His love 
 in dying for them ; how tenderly He loves 
 little children, and longs for them to come 
 into His fold. She explained to them how 
 weak and unable to protect themselves 
 the sheep are ; and just so, how feeble and 
 helpless we all are in ourselves, and what 
 need we have to be led and kept day by 
 day in the right way. She spoke to them 
 of the tender love of the Good Shepherd 
 for every one, even the least and feeblest of 
 His lambs ; of their great enemy, the devil, 
 from whom He died to deliver them : how 
 He knows each little one by name, keeps 
 His eye always upon them, watches over 
 them by night and by day, goes after them 
 when they wander from Him, and brings 
 them back to His fold ; and, at length, 
 when life is over, receives them into His 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 31 
 
 own gloriously bright and holy kingdom 
 above. 
 
 The children all listened quietly and 
 attentively ; and amongst the little eyes 
 fixed on the kind young teacher, none 
 seemed more riveted than the poor little 
 stranger-children, by whom alone of all 
 the class the sweet story of old — the story 
 which is ever new — was heard for the 
 first time. 
 
 When school was over, the children 
 stood up and sang together the sweet 
 hymn, which followed so well on the sub- 
 ject of the lesson: 
 
 "Jesus is our Shepherd, 
 Wiping every tear, 
 Folded in His bosom, 
 What have we to tear?" 
 
 When the class was dismissed, Susan 
 called the little strangers to her, and asked 
 them their names, and where they lived, 
 and if they would like to come to the 
 school again, The elder one answered : 
 
32 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 " I'm called Polly, and that's Lizzie. We 
 don't live nowhere. This is a rare nice 
 place ; we'd like to come again." 
 
 " And have you no father or mother ? " 
 " Please, 'm, mother's dead, and father 
 went away to sea long ago, and we've 
 nobody to look after us;" 
 
 " And where are you going now ? " 
 " We shall walk about till it's dark, and 
 then creep under one of the arches, or on 
 to a door-step, if nobody don't turn us 
 away ; but most often we get turned away 
 from one house after another, or the police 
 sees us, and then we has to hide away as 
 fast as we can. It's not as bad now as in 
 the winter. Lizzie gets a cough then ; and 
 I don't know how to keep her warm ; we 
 often shiver all night long. Arches is 
 draughty; but sometimes we find an old 
 barrel, and creep into that ; that's the best 
 place." 
 
 " Not quite the best," said the younger 
 child ; " we once slept in a warm place. * 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 33 
 
 The elder child here shook her head at 
 poor little Lizzie, and made a sign to her 
 to say no more ; but the movement did not 
 escape Susan's observation, and only served 
 to confirm what she had already strongly 
 suspected, that these poor, forlorn children 
 were none other than Daisy's "prayer- 
 children." It had been her earnest hope 
 that somehow, through means of the 
 ragged-school, which brought her into 
 contact with so many of the poor children 
 and homes of the neighbourhood, she might 
 learn something about them ; and now the 
 longings and prayers of the past months 
 seemed at length about to be answered. 
 Their eyes brightened when Susan asked 
 them if they would like to go home with 
 her, and to have some warm tea and bread 
 and butter ; and poor little Lizzie could 
 not resist saying, " We're so hungry ; 
 we've had nothing but some dry crusts 
 since yesterday morning." 
 
 Telling them to keep close to her, and 
 
34 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 talking to them, as they walked along, of 
 the Good Shepherd who loved them, and 
 was even now seeking to bring them to 
 His fold, Susan led them to her own home. 
 The shutters being closed, the children did 
 not at first recognize the place where six 
 months before they had found shelter ; but 
 as Susan led them through the shop, watch- 
 ing their faces meanwhile, to discover any 
 sign of recognition, Lizzie suddenly pulled 
 her sister's arm, and said in a low voice, 
 " Wasn't this the place where we slept 
 that night ? " 
 
 Polly looked frightened, and whispered, 
 " Perhaps we shall be punished for it ; " 
 and in another moment both of them would 
 have darted out of the door, had not Susan 
 closed it and taken them by the hand, 
 saying to them very gently, " Don't be 
 afraid, dear children ; this is the nice place 
 where you once slept, one cold night in 
 the winter, and we hoped you would have 
 come to it again, and used to leave the 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 35 
 
 door unlatched for you every night. God 
 your Father in heaven led you here, and 
 we asked Him to bring you back, and He 
 has heard our prayers. Polly and Lizzie 
 needn't fear anything now ; for, if they 
 are good, they shall stay here always, and 
 never sleep out in the cold any more 
 again." 
 
 Then leading them into the inner room, 
 she brought them to Daisy, who was lying 
 on her couch in the window, and said : 
 
 " Daisy, here are your 'prayer-children,' 
 found at last through your prayers and my 
 dear little school." 
 
 Daisy's face beamed with joy and thank- 
 fulness. During the quiet hour while her 
 brother and sisters were at school, and her 
 father and mother at church, she had been 
 praying that Jesus would suffer these little 
 children to come unto Him, and that they 
 might be found ; arid even while the prayer 
 was rising up from her heart the answer of 
 peace was coming down, and the promise 
 
36 The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 of old being fulfilled : "It shall come to 
 pass, that before they call, I will answer ; 
 and while they are yet speaking, I will 
 hear." 
 
 There was general rejoicing that after- 
 noon in the Morleys' home when the rest 
 of the family came in. 
 
 Kind Mrs. Morley, with Elsie's help, 
 soon washed and dressed the poor children 
 in some better garments than their own 
 miserable rags ; and the loving mother's 
 heart did not repent when she saw poor 
 little Lizzie sitting at the tea-table that 
 evening in Lily's place, and clad in Lily's 
 clothes. 
 
 Happy, thrice happy, they who know 
 the joy and blessed privilege of ministering 
 to the Lord of glory, in the person even 
 of a little child, and who, from love to the 
 Saviour who loved them and gave Him- 
 self for them, receive one such little one 
 in His name. 
 
37 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "I«hw aM a little tljUb ante Jim/' 
 
 'hen school hours were over on week 
 days, Susan Morley used often to 
 visit the homes of her Sunday scholars ; 
 and one afternoon, about a year after the 
 events recorded in the last chapter, she set 
 out for this purpose, with the wish too of 
 seeing one who had been absent from the 
 class the day before. It was another poor 
 child who had been brought into the 
 school by the same little Jane, whose 
 earnest efforts to say " Come " to others 
 had led to the rescuing of Daisy's " prayer- 
 children." 
 
 For some time the child had come 
 regularly to the class ; but when Jane 
 called for her as usual one Sunday after- 
 noon, she found her in tears, and on in- 
 
38 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 quiring the cause, the child told her that 
 her mother had said she should never go 
 to the school again. Jane had tried to 
 comfort her, by promising to ask her teacher 
 to come and see her, and did not fail to 
 lay the case before Susan as soon as school 
 was over. Susan had already made some 
 inquiries respecting the child's home, and 
 was much afraid, from what she had heard, 
 that it would not be an easy matter to 
 persuade the mother to send her. How- 
 ever, seeking help and guidance where none 
 ever seek in vain, she set out the following 
 afternoon to see what could be done, and 
 to try if possible to soften the hard heart 
 of poor little Bessie's stepmother, and 
 induce her to retract her threat. 
 
 Turning down some narrow streets, she 
 made her way into the close, dingy-looking 
 alley, in a court of which was Bessie's 
 home. Groups of dirty children were 
 playing about in the gutters ; and women 
 with untidy hair, lounging at their doors, 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 39 
 
 stared at her as she passed ; but, quietly- 
 looking upwards, she made her way through 
 the midst of them without annoyance, and 
 at last reached the door of the miserable 
 house, in a garret of which little Jane had 
 told her Bessie would be found. 
 
 The staircase was narrow and steep, 
 with scant glimmer of light; and the sound 
 of rude voices in some of the rooms, as 
 she made her way with difficulty up the 
 broken stairs, did not tend to reassure her. 
 At last she reached the top; but, to her 
 surprise, whilst pausing for a moment before 
 knocking at the door, she heard a little 
 voice inside singing. It was the old 
 familiar hymn, sung almost every Sunday 
 at the school, " There is a happy land, far, 
 far away;" and the little singer seemed so 
 to enjoy the words, and to sing them with 
 such heart, that Susan did not like to 
 interrupt her, but waited till she had 
 finished before knocking at the door for 
 admittance. 
 
40 The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 When she did so, no one said, "Come 
 in ;" and she was obliged to repeat her 
 knock, this time saying as she did so, 
 " Bessie, dear, are you at home ? I've 
 come to see you." 
 
 The door was not opened, but a voice 
 from within answered, " Oh, please, teacher, 
 I'm so sorry I can't open the door; but 
 mother's locked me in, and taken the key, 
 for fear I should run out and leave the 
 babies. I've got to take care of them till 
 she comes home." 
 
 " Very well, dear, never mind about the 
 door ; but tell me why you did not come 
 yesterday to school. I was so sorry not 
 to have you in the class." 
 
 The child did not answer at once, and 
 Susan almost reproached herself for having 
 asked the question, for she fancied she 
 heard the sound of a stifled sob, and then 
 the child said in broken tones : 
 
 " I like to come to the school, but I 
 mustn't come again. Mother says she won't 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 41 
 
 have me go there, and she'll beat me if I 
 do; but I want so to hear some more 
 about Jesus, and I'm trying to speak to 
 Him, as you told us." 
 
 "That's right, dear; and do you think 
 if I were to teach you a little prayer to say 
 to Him, you would say it every night and 
 morning, and whenever else you are able 
 through the day ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, teacher, that I would." 
 
 "Well, then, dear, I want you to say 
 after me : ' O God, give me Thy Holy 
 Spirit, and take away all my sins, for Jesus 
 Christ's sake.' " 
 
 The child repeated the words after Susan 
 several times, until she thought she could 
 remember them. Then Susan spoke to 
 her as well as she could through the closed 
 door about the loving Saviour, who died 
 for little children, and who would wash 
 away her sins, if she asked Him, in His 
 precious blood, and give His Holy Spirit 
 to teach and guide her in the right way, 
 
42 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 and at last, through His own great love, 
 bring her to the happy land she had been 
 singing about. Then taking a little card 
 with a text on it out of her pocket, she 
 slipped it under the door, and told Bessie 
 to try and learn it by the next time she 
 came, and promised if she knew it perfectly 
 she should have another. 
 
 Bessie read the words on it, " I love 
 them that love Me, and those that seek 
 Me early shall find Me;" and then Susan 
 said : 
 
 " Do you know who it is that says this, 
 dear Bessie ?" 
 
 " It doesn't tell us, teacher; but I should 
 think it must be Jesus, because you said 
 He loves us." 
 
 " And do you love Jesus, Bessie ?" 
 " Oh yes, teacher, I do love Him." 
 "Why do you love Him, dear ?" 
 " Oh, teacher, because He died to save 
 us from going to the dreadful place, and 
 because He's so good to us." 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 43 
 
 "And do you know, dear, what the verse 
 means when it says, 'Those that seek Me 
 early shall find Me'?" 
 
 " Early in the morning, teacher, before 
 we think of anything else." 
 
 " Yes, dear, we should think of Him as 
 soon as we wake in the morning ; our first 
 thought should be of Him and His love; 
 but it means something beside this — that 
 while you are young, quite in the morning 
 of life, you should seek Him as your Saviour 
 and Friend, not wait till you are grown 
 up, because you may never live till then, 
 and the sweet promise is for children, 
 ' Those that seek Me early shall find Me.' 
 I hope little Bessie is beginning to seek 
 Jesus early." 
 
 ' 'Yes, teacher; and I hope I shall see 
 Him some day. I often lie awake at night; 
 and through the chinks in the roof I some- 
 times see the stars, and they look so bright, 
 and I know Jesus made them, and I say 
 to myself, 'Jesus's home is brighter even 
 
44 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 than those stars ; and maybe some day 1 
 shall get there, if my sins are washed away, 
 and my naughty heart is made clean.' 
 And when the babies are cross, and my 
 arm aches with nursing them, I sing my 
 hymns and verses, and I forget I'm tired, 
 and I feel so happy ; but I do want to 
 come to school again." 
 
 Susan promised the child to see if she 
 could persuade her mother to give her 
 leave to return to the class; but bidding 
 her, whether or not, to try to be gentle, 
 obedient, and patient, and thus to show 
 her love to the Lord Jesus, who had loved 
 her with so great a love, she said good-bye 
 to her, and made her way once more down 
 the rickety staircase. 
 
 As she went down, she heard the little 
 voice upstairs beginning to sing again the 
 old favourite hymn ; and with feelings of 
 deep thankfulness she thought to herself, 
 "Truly, of such is the kingdom of heaven ?' 
 so simply had this little child received the 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 45 
 
 message of Christ's love into her heart, 
 and as a little palm-tree flourishing in the 
 midst of a desert land, because its roots 
 are watered by a hidden spring, was bring- 
 ing forth in an ungodly home, and with 
 every outward disadvantage, the fruit of 
 holiness, to the glory and praise of God. 
 
 Susan made many efforts to see little 
 Bessie's stepmother, but without success. 
 She went out to work early in the morning, 
 and purposely avoided seeing her at other 
 times. When Susan called at the house, 
 little Bessie, if not out, was always locked 
 into the room. But the child had many 
 happy talks with her kind teacher through 
 the closed door ; and though not allowed to 
 come back to the school, she learned, week 
 after week, the verses which Susan slipped 
 for her under the door, and was treasuring 
 up in her heart a store of precious texts 
 which no one could take away from her. 
 After some time Susan managed to send 
 her a Bible by little jane, and the joy of 
 
46 The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 the child at having one of her own was 
 unbounded. 
 
 " I can now read all about Jesus, and 
 perhaps some day mother will let me read 
 it to her." 
 
 One evening, a few months later on, as 
 Susan was sitting after tea by Daisy's 
 couch, reading to her, the shop-bell rang, 
 and on going to answer it Elsie found little 
 Jane waiting with a pale face, and tears in 
 her eyes. She had been running fast, and 
 was so out of breath she could not speak for 
 a minute, but at last managed to get out 
 that Susan was wanted directly. Bessie's 
 mother had sent her — there had been an 
 accident, and Bessie was hurt, and had 
 been taken to the hospital, and was asking 
 for "teacher." 
 
 Susan was ready in a moment, and before 
 long reached the hospital, little Jane going 
 with her as far as the entrance, and telling 
 her the few particulars she had gathered 
 from Bessie's stepmother about what had 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 47 
 
 happened. It appeared that the child had 
 been sent out early in the morning with 
 seme violets to sell ; but not finding as 
 many customers as usual, and fearing her 
 stepmother's anger if she returned without 
 selling them, she had lingered about the 
 streets till dusk. Jane had met her, and 
 tried to persuade her to come home ; but 
 she said, " Oh no ! not till I have sold 
 my flowers ; mother will be so vexed if I 
 don't!" 
 
 When Jane asked her if she were not 
 very tired and hungry, she said she was 
 tired, and she had a pain in her side, but 
 she was saying over her verses and hymns, 
 and this helped her to forget how tired she 
 was. 
 
 As Jane left her she heard her saying to 
 herself, "He shall gather the lambs with 
 His arm, and carry them in His bosom" — 
 the last verse Susan had given her to learn. 
 She had not been at home much more than 
 an hour, when Bessie's stepmother ran in, 
 
48 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 and told her to fetch Miss Morley at once 
 — that Bessie had been run over by a 
 waggon, and had been taken to the 
 hospital. 
 
 Susan hurried upstairs to the ward where 
 the poor child had been carried ; the doctor 
 and nurse were standing on one side of the 
 bed as she entered, and, from the grave 
 look on the face of the former, she guessed 
 what was indeed the case, that little or 
 no hope was entertained of the child's 
 recovery. Both her legs had been broken, 
 and her head severely injured as well. Her 
 stepmother was sitting at the foot of the 
 bed, and seemed half stupefied. Susan 
 stepped forward quietly, and bending 
 down over the poor little sufferer, said in a 
 gentle voice, u He shall gather the lambs 
 with His arm, and carry them in His 
 bosom." 
 
 The little eyes, which had been closed 
 until now, opened for a moment with 
 returning consciousness, and the child 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 49 
 
 smiled as the familiar words fell on her 
 ear, and held out her hand to Susan. 
 Then, looking up with a bright smile, she 
 whispered, " I'm so happy. Tell mother 
 I'm going to Jesus ; and I hope she'll come 
 too." She made an effort to say, "He 
 shall gather the lambs with His arm ;" and 
 then with one little sigh, turning her head 
 on the pillow, as if going to sleep, she was 
 gently gathered into the fold of the Good 
 Shepherd above. 
 
 Dear little Bessie! No more rough 
 words or blows, no more pain and hunger, 
 no more tears, " the waves of this trouble- 
 some world " safely crossed, and the little 
 ship at anchor in the fair haven, where 
 they who enter in " shall hunger no more, 
 neither thirst any more ; neither shall the 
 sun light on them, nor any heat. For the 
 Lamb which is in the midst of the throne 
 shall feed them, and shall lead them unto 
 living fountains of waters : and God shall 
 wipe away all tears from their eyes." 
 
5° 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 jg* mnfafy i\z storm a tdm, so %t % foafoa %rjeof 
 are still" 
 
 bout two years after little Bessie's 
 £3)^: death, Daisy, whose health had been 
 failing very much during the summer 
 months, was ordered to go away for some 
 time to a drier and milder place; and as 
 Mrs. Morley had a sister, the wife of a 
 farmer, living at a little village on the 
 south coast, it was arranged that she should 
 spend the winter with her. 
 
 Little Lizzie was to go too, partly as a 
 companion for Daisy, and also because she 
 was far from strong herself; for though in 
 better health than when she and her sister 
 were received into the Morleys' home, she 
 had never thoroughly recovered from the 
 effects of early neglect and exposure to all 
 weathers. She and Polly had continued 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 51 
 
 to go to the little school which had been 
 the means, through God's blessing, of 
 rescuing them from their life of misery. 
 Their love and gratitude to the kind friends 
 who had taken them into their home had 
 from the first been most touching, and 
 amply repaid Mr. Morley and his wife for 
 the disinterested kindness and tender pity 
 with which they had received into their 
 home, and treated as their own children, 
 the friendless little ones, who had no other 
 claim upon them than their misery and 
 wretchedness. 
 
 There were many regrets in the Morleys' 
 home when the time came for Daisy and 
 Lizzie to set off on their long journey ; for 
 all knew how sadly Daisy would be missed 
 from her accustomed corner, and little 
 Lizzie was a general favourite. Mr. 
 Morley went with them the greater part of 
 the way, and saw them safely into the 
 coach which was to carry them the last 
 twenty miles. 
 
52 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 Daisy bore the journey better than 
 could have been expected ; and both Lizzie 
 and she met with a kindly welcome from 
 the good old farmer and his wife, who had 
 no children of their own, and were well 
 pleased at the thought of having some 
 young faces about them. The old-fashioned 
 farmhouse, nestling down in a sheltered 
 nook, with the hills rising behind it, was 
 the picture of comfort and peace both 
 within and without. 
 
 Early the next morning, as they looked 
 out from the windows of the snug sitting- 
 room, the quiet beauty of the scene which 
 lay before them filled both the children 
 with wonder and delight. The farm stood 
 at the head of a valley well wooded with 
 fir-trees, and opening down on to the bay ; 
 a little stream ran gurgling down its rocky 
 bed only a few yards from the garden gate, 
 while the cliff itself, down which a winding- 
 path led to the shore, was covered with 
 creepers and ivy, and rich in every kind of 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 53 
 
 foliage. The trees were still in the beauty 
 of their autumn tints, and to Daisy, whose 
 eyes never saw a tree from one year's end 
 to another, it seemed a perfect paradise. 
 
 But the crowning delight to both the 
 children was the wide sea, which bounded 
 the view, and which stretched away to 
 right and left, as far as eye could reach. 
 As they looked out on it for the first time 
 in their lives, it seemed to them more 
 wondrous and beautiful than anything they 
 had ever imagined. Here and there in 
 the far distance they could see the sails 
 of some ships bound for a far-off land, the 
 rising sun just tipping them with gold ; or 
 nearer home, down in the bay below, the 
 little fishing-boats returning home after the 
 night's toil. They were never tired of 
 gazing on the sea with its ever-changing 
 beauty, and the kind-hearted old farmer 
 would often drive the children in his gig 
 down to the shore, and leave them there 
 with their books and work for hours to- 
 
54 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 gether. Mrs. Morris contrived an easy 
 folding couch for Daisy, which was carried 
 down without trouble, and on which she 
 
 was able to rest, and enjoy the view without 
 fatigue. 
 
 The soft, mild air, with the invigorating 
 sea-breezes, soon brought returning strength 
 to her and little Lizzie, and the quiet 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 55 
 
 peaceful life in the old farmhouse was a 
 time of rest and enjoyment long re- 
 membered by them both. The bright 
 mornings were generally spent on the shore ; 
 and in the afternoon, while Daisy rested in 
 the pleasant bay-window of the parlour, 
 little Lizzie often went with Mrs. Morris 
 on some mission of love to one or other of 
 the fishermen's or farm-labourers' cottages 
 scattered over the valley. 
 
 Sometimes, as a great treat, the child 
 was allowed to go by herself, to carry a 
 basket of eggs or a pat of home-made 
 butter, with some tea and sugar, to an aged 
 man and his wife, formerly employed on 
 the farm, but who were now past work, 
 and lived in a lonely cottage half-way down 
 the cliff. The little girl was always wel- 
 come to the good old couple, and many 
 a happy half-hour she spent with them, 
 sometimes reading to them as they sat in 
 the chimney-corner out of the large Bible, 
 which always lay open on the table ; 
 
56 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 sometimes sitting on a little stool at their 
 feet, and listening to them as they talked 
 of the days long gone by, when children's 
 feet had trodden their cottage-floor, and 
 another little girl had occupied the same 
 stool Lizzie was sitting on. Sometimes 
 they would go over the old story, and tell 
 her how, one by one, all those children had 
 been taken from them, in infancy or early 
 childhood, and had been laid side by side 
 to rest, in a quiet corner of the little 
 churchyard under the hill ; but how they 
 knew and rejoiced to think that all were 
 safely gathered into the blessed home to 
 which day by day they were drawing 
 nearer themselves. 
 
 One day, when the wind was rising and 
 the sea very rough, the old man told Lizzie 
 to watch the fishing-boats coming into the 
 bay, and then said : 
 
 " You see those little storm-tossed boats, 
 my lassie, making for the harbour ; they've 
 had a rough time of it, and I'll venture to 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 57 
 
 say, there isn't a man in them who won't 
 be glad to set his foot on shore. It's a 
 rocky coast this, and many's the brave ship 
 I've known in my time wrecked off the 
 rocks yonder, let alone the little cockle- 
 shells of fishing-boats. Ah, my child, it's 
 just a picture of our life. We're all launched 
 on a stormy sea ; and, though some have a 
 smoother passage than others, I believe 
 there are waves and storms for all. Happy 
 for those that have with them in the ship 
 the one Pilot that can bring them safely 
 through all storms, into the quiet haven." 
 
 The child looked up earnestly into the 
 man's face as he spoke, and then said : 
 " Daisy says she thinks the haven must be 
 all the more welcome when the boats have 
 had a rough passage." 
 
 " Ay, and Daisy's right too, my child ; 
 the storms and danger make the rest and 
 peaceful shelter seem all the sweeter ; and 
 heaven will seem all the more welcome 
 when the voyage has been full of storms.' 
 
58 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 The old man murmured softly to himself, 
 "Then are they glad because they be 
 quiet; so He bringeth them unto their 
 desired haven." 
 
 The wind now began suddenly to in- 
 crease in violence; and fearing to detain 
 the child any longer, the old man desired 
 her to hurry home at once, going with her 
 himself to the top of the zigzag path which 
 led up the cliff, and watching till he saw 
 her little form disappear through the gate 
 leading to the farm. 
 
59 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " fie zammnvcbtfy, mtb- xuxut\ i\t strrrmg fohxb . . * t\txx 
 xaxxl b mzltzb hztmsz d txsmhiz" 
 
 fHAT night the storm raged with terrible 
 fury, and many were the anxious 
 hearts in the valley, many the eyes that 
 saw no sleep, but watched and prayed till 
 morning light, " for those in peril on the 
 sea." 
 
 Daisy and her little companion lay awake 
 all night listening to the waves lashing up 
 against the shore, and to the hurricane 
 which swept round the farmhouse. At 
 times it seemed to them as if the house 
 itself swayed to and fro, and they clung 
 tremblingly to one another ; but the old 
 dwelling was built high up on the rock, 
 and was protected by the hill behind, and 
 when the light of day broke over it, it 
 stood secure. 
 
60 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 Farmer Morris was up before dawn, and 
 calling his men together, assembled them 
 for prayer in the old kitchen ; and then 
 telling them to lose no time in following 
 him to the shore, he made his way down 
 to the bay as speedily as possible. A sad 
 sight greeted him there, a fine ship lying 
 on her beam-ends, about a hundred yards 
 from the shore, utterly dismasted, and 
 going to pieces as fast as possible. Some 
 groups of fishermen were busily engaged 
 in trying to rescue portions of the cargo, 
 which were being continually washed up 
 on the shore ; while others with their wives 
 were intent on ministering to the half- 
 drowned crew, all of whom by aid of the 
 lifeboat had been rescued from a watery 
 grave. 
 
 Mrs. Morris was not long in following 
 
 her husband to the shore. She was well 
 » 
 
 known in the fishermen's huts, and was at 
 all times a welcome visitor, for all knew 
 that in trouble or trial of whatever kind, 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 61 
 
 they had only to turn to the old farm under 
 the shadow of the hill, and be sure of ready 
 help and sympathy. As she stepped out 
 of one of the cottages, a poor woman, the 
 
 wife of one of the fishermen, came out of 
 another close by, and said : 
 
 " Maybe you'll be so good as to step 
 into our house next, mistress. There's a 
 
62 The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 poor man, one of the crew that was saved 
 last night, but I doubt he's bound for a 
 better shore ; he was longer coming to 
 than any of the others, and it seems, from 
 what some of them say, he's been ill a long 
 time." 
 
 Mrs. Morris went with her at once into 
 the cottage, and on opening the door of 
 the inner room stepped softly to the poor 
 man's bedside, and sat down by him. He 
 was asleep ; but one glance at his thin face 
 and emaciated hands told only too plainly 
 that the woman's words were true, and 
 that he was, as she expressed it, soon bound 
 for a better shore. 
 
 After some time he awoke ; and on 
 seeing Mrs. Morris, he asked her if she 
 would be so good as to read to him, 
 pointing to a little well-worn Bible which 
 lay on his pillow. Mrs. Morris turned to 
 the thirty-second Psalm ; and when she had 
 finished reading it, and had spoken to him 
 of Jesus as the sure refuge and only hiding- 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 63 
 
 place for poor sinners, he looked up at her 
 earnestly, and said : 
 
 " Blessed be God, I have found that 
 refuge, through His grace and goodness, 
 for never did any poor sinner have greater 
 need of such a refuge and such a hiding- 
 place." 
 
 He spoke with difficulty, and the effort 
 to say this seemed almost too much for 
 him, for he sank back exhausted. Mrs. 
 Morris did not press him to talk any more ; 
 but with a few soothing words, and an 
 earnest prayer that Jesus would light for 
 him the dark valley, the shadows of which 
 were now gathering around him, she took 
 leave of the poor man, desiring the woman 
 in whose cottage he was to see that he 
 wanted for nothing, and promising to 
 return later in the day. 
 
 The other sufferers occupied much of 
 her time and care; and it was not until 
 late in the afternoon that she was able to 
 see the poor dying sailor again. She 
 
64 The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 found on reaching the cottage that he had 
 rallied a little since the morning, and was 
 able to talk with much less difficulty. As 
 she sat down by him he looked up with an 
 earnest expression, and said, " I want you 
 to tell me once again the glad news that 
 Jesus Christ came into the world to save 
 sinners. I have heard it again and again, 
 but I am never tired of hearing the same 
 sweet sound. 
 
 " The voice that first told me of my 
 need of a Saviour, that first bid me look 
 to Jesus, is silent now. It was a young 
 cabin-boy on board the ship I first sailed 
 in from England. We had a rough voyage, 
 and out in the Atlantic met with such a 
 storm as made my coward heart quail. I 
 remembered how, in days gone by, as a 
 little child my mother had taught me of 
 God, and told me I need not fear in the 
 dark because He would be near and take 
 care of me; but now this thought did 
 not quiet my heart. I felt that God was 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 65 
 
 near, and that it was His voice speaking 
 in the storm ; but I could not look up to 
 Him as a friend, and the thought of His 
 being near only made me tremble with 
 fear. I had lived so long in sin and 
 without God in the world, that surely He 
 would not listen to me now, or take care 
 of me in the storm. All my past life 
 seemed in a moment to stand out before 
 me, and the thought of what a dark picture 
 it was filled me well-nigh with despair. 
 As I heard the wind and the waves roaring, 
 and looked out into the thick darkness, 
 I felt there was not a glimmer of hope for 
 me. Just then this young cabin-boy, who 
 had often spoken to me of the Saviour, but 
 whom I and another man on board had 
 never lost an opportunity of jeering at, 
 came past me. He had been with a 
 message from the captain to the mate ; 
 and as he passed me in the dark, I thought 
 I caught sound of the words, ' I will fear 
 no evil, for Thou art with me. 1 At any 
 
 F 
 
66 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 other time I should probably have laughed 
 at him ; but I was in no mood for jesting 
 now ; and something forced me to call out, 
 as he went by, "Aren't you afeared, 
 Charlie ? ' for I was trembling myself from 
 head to foot. The boy stopped and said, 
 ' No, master, I'm not afeared. When the 
 storm in the heart's once been stilled, the' 
 outside storms can't alarm one; if one's 
 heart is only in the harbour, there's no 
 room for fear. 
 
 Amid the howling wintry sea 
 We are in port if we have Thee.' 
 
 " Ah, mistress, I would have given the 
 world at that moment to have felt as that 
 young lad did ; though many a time when 
 he had spoken to me before of the sure 
 haven for storm-tossed souls, I had laughed 
 at him, and told him there would be time 
 enough to seek the harbour when the 
 storm came, that we didn't want it in 
 smooth sailing. Ah, how well I recollect 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 67 
 
 the sad look which came over his face 
 when I spoke so, and how gravely he 
 would say, ' Ah, Master Smith, you should 
 put into that port in bright weather, if you'd 
 know how to find it in the storm.' 
 
 " He had hardly passed by when a tre- 
 mendous wave broke over the ship, and 
 it was hard work for the men to stand at 
 the pumps. 
 
 "In the roar of the wind and sea I heard 
 the young boy's voice : ' Call upon God, 
 Master Smith, call upon God ! He says, 
 " Call upon Me in the day of trouble, and 
 I will deliver thee." ' And then and there 
 in the darkest night I have ever spent in 
 my life, and yet not quite the darkest, for 
 before it had ended a gleam of light had 
 shone across my heart, I did call on God, 
 as I clung for my life to the side of the 
 ship, and prayed Him to have mercy on 
 my poor benighted soul, as I had never 
 before prayed in my life. But the lad's 
 voice I have never heard again ; the wave 
 
68 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 that washed over the ship had borne away 
 with it the soul that was the most ready 
 of all on board to meet its God. Those 
 words, ' Call upon God, Master Smith, 
 call upon God ! ' must have been well-nigh 
 his last on earth. The storm that was my 
 call to the Saviour was his to go home ; 
 and surely never was anyone so young more 
 ready for the summons. I never knew 
 a lad so fearless in danger, so ready to 
 witness for the Lord, so little afeared of 
 man. There wasn't a man on board that 
 didn't in his heart respect him, even if he 
 didn't think with him. I found his jacket 
 the next morning ; he had taken it off, to 
 be more ready to help the men at the 
 pumps, and there in the pocket was the 
 little Bible I had so often seen him reading. 
 I couldn't help a tear or two when I 
 opened it, and saw how well worn and used 
 it was. 
 
 " Here's the Bible, mistress ; I have kept 
 it ever since ; and, blessed be God, through 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 69 
 
 reading that Book, I have found pardon 
 and peace, and a hope that, poor miserable 
 sinner as I am, I shall one day reach the 
 home that dear lad has most surely gone 
 to, through the love of the Saviour who 
 came into the world to save sinners such 
 as I. That Book has been my constant 
 companion ever since by night and by day ; 
 and, thank God, it was made the means of 
 salvation to another man besides myself, 
 the very one who used to join with me in 
 jeering poor Charlie Green ; he died in 
 peace through reading this blessed Book. 
 He too, like me, had lived in sin and in 
 forgetfulness of God, and when he fell ill 
 he was afraid of the thought of death. 
 I used to read to him ; I had found peace 
 then myself, and I couldn't do less than 
 try to put him in the way of finding it too. 
 I had seen the beacon light which saved 
 my poor soul from shipwreck, and guided 
 me into the haven of refuge, and wasn't I 
 bound to do my utmost to point it out to 
 
70 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 some other storm-tossed soul ? He told 
 me much about his past life, how he had 
 left his poor dying wife and children, and 
 knew nothing of what had become of them ; 
 and he made me promise, before he died, 
 that if ever I came back to England, I 
 would try to find out where they were, and 
 tell them how he repented of his past life, 
 and had come as a poor sinner to seek 
 forgiveness at the feet of Jesus. He used 
 often to say he knew that he was the chief 
 of sinners, but that in this blessed Book he 
 had found that there was hope, even for 
 the vilest that came and touched the hem 
 of the Saviour's garment ; and sure enough 
 he found peace in looking to * the Lamb of 
 God that taketh away the sin of the world.' 
 "He often spoke of his two children, 
 and said he prayed that God would teach 
 them to know a Saviour's love ; and that 
 although their earthly father had forsaken 
 them, the Lord Himself would take them 
 up. I should like to have done what 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 71 
 
 I could to find out something about them 
 and their mother ; but now I fear I shan't 
 be able. I know I haven't long to live, 
 and my voyage is almost over. I hardly 
 thought I should have lived through last 
 night. I had no strength to stir hand or 
 foot myself, and if they hadn't lifted me 
 into the boat I must have been drowned, 
 for the ship was filling fast ; but, oh, how 
 different I felt from what I did in the last 
 storm ! Now I could say to myself a verse 
 I had many a time heard poor Charlie 
 sing when the wind was against us, and 
 the sea rough : 
 
 ' On-e who has known in storms to sail 
 
 I have on board; 
 Above the raging of the gale 
 I hear my Lord.' 
 
 Ah, mistress, it's one thing to have to face 
 the storm alone, but quite another to meet 
 it with Christ. I could now understand 
 what Charlie meant when he said, 'The 
 inner storm was stilled, and so the outside 
 
72 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 storms couldn't alarm him.' One had 
 come by and said unto my soul, all tossed 
 with sin and misery, ' Peace, be still,' and 
 now ' there was a great calm.' 
 
 'I came to Jesus as I was, 
 
 Weary and worn and sad : 
 I found in Him a resting-place, 
 And He has made me glad.'" 
 
 Mrs. Morris was deeply touched and 
 
 interested in the poor man's story. As 
 
 she rose to go, she turned once more to 
 
 look at the little Bible which had been so 
 
 blessed to him and others, and on opening 
 
 it her eyes caught sight of the name, 
 
 " Morley," written on the fly-leaf. On 
 
 examining it more closely she was still 
 
 more astonished at the inscription, which 
 
 was as follows: 
 
 " Given to Charles Green, 
 
 on leaving the Ragged School, 
 
 with the best wishes of his sincere friend and teacher, 
 
 Susan Morley. 
 
 ' Oh satisfy us early with Thy mercy, that we may 
 rejoice and be glad all our days.'" 
 
The Motherless Bairns. 73 
 
 Charles Green was an orphan boy in 
 whom Susan Morley had taken great 
 interest. He had attended the ragged 
 school regularly for three years, and during 
 the last part of the time Susan had been 
 much encouraged about him, and had begun 
 to hope that the good seed had taken root 
 in his heart. Still, she had never felt quite 
 sure that the boy had really given his heart 
 to the Saviour, and often after he had left 
 the school, as years passed away without 
 her hearing of him, she had many anxious 
 thoughts about him. Her great hope had 
 been in the Bible which she had given him 
 on parting, and in the promise he had made 
 her that he would read a few verses in it 
 every day. No day had passed since he 
 sailed from England in which Susan 
 Morley did not pray for the sailor boy far 
 away on the sea, and ask that the Word of 
 God might find an entrance into his heart, 
 and make him " wise unto salvation through 
 faith which is in Christ Jesus." And how 
 
74 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 abundantly her prayers had been answered, 
 beyond all that she had thought or expected, 
 we have already seen. 
 
 Nor was this all. On inquiring the 
 name and other particulars respecting the 
 poor man who had died in peace through 
 reading the Bible given by Susan to 
 Charlie Green, Mrs. Morris discovered on 
 her next visit to Robert Smith that it could 
 have been none other than the father of 
 Polly and Lizzie. She took Lizzie with 
 her several times to visit the dying sailor, 
 and he was much interested in seeing the 
 child of his former shipmate. Poor little 
 Lizzie would often read to him out of the 
 Bible her father had learned to love, and 
 was never tired of asking questions about 
 him, and would sometimes say : 
 
 " Polly and I used to pray to God to let 
 us see our father again, but now we must 
 pray to meet him in heaven." 
 
 Robert Smith did not live many weeks. 
 He had no friends living, and seemed to 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 75 
 
 desire nothing further, now that he knew 
 that the children of his comrade were alive 
 and well cared for. Mrs. Morris visited 
 him constantly, and saw that he wanted for 
 nothing. Resting on Jesus, he passed 
 away in peace, with the words on his lips 
 of his favourite hymn : 
 
 "Hide me, O, my Saviour, hide, 
 Till the storm of life be past ; 
 Safe into the haven guide, 
 Oh, receive my soul at last." 
 
 Thus already had much blessed fruit 
 sprung from the patient labours and earnest 
 prayers of one young teacher in a little 
 ragged school ; surely only an earnest o* 
 further and fuller blessing reserved for the 
 day of harvest by Him who has promised 
 that His word shall not return unto Him 
 void, but shall accomplish that which He 
 pleases, and prosper in the thing whereto 
 He sends it. 
 
7 6 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "%)t t\mi %ad\ imi\ mxb ktt$ti\ t taantrg prtdrtras 
 uzb, sjrall honbtltBB tomz aijara faxfy xtpitiriQ, bringing 
 
 C£± 
 
 t was with feelings of deep joy and 
 <§£ thankfulness that Susan Morley heard 
 of the events related in the last chapter. 
 Writing back to Daisy, who had sent her 
 the glad news, she said : 
 
 "Dear Daisy, 
 
 "We were all glad to have your last 
 letter, and Lizzie's, and to find that you are 
 both so much better. I need not say how 
 thankful we all were, and especially poor 
 Polly, at hearing the particulars of her 
 father's happy death. Though she could 
 not help at first sorrowing that she will 
 never see him on earth, she feels it is 
 indeed far better to know that he is safe in 
 heaven, and to have the blessed hope of 
 
The Motherless Bairns. yj 
 
 meeting him there. How wonderful it was 
 that it should have been brought about 
 in that way, and through his reading 
 Charlie Green's Bible — the Bible, Daisy 
 you and I asked might be made the means 
 of guiding some one else's feet, beside his 
 own, into the way of peace ! How thank- 
 ful I am, too, that one of the dear ragged 
 boys, and especially Charlie, whom I have 
 thought of so constantly, and have often 
 felt so anxious about, should have been 
 made such a blessing, and enabled to witness 
 for Jesus in life, and to testify in death 
 that he feared no evil because He was 
 with him ! 
 
 "lam sure you will be glad to hear that 
 Mrs. Grey, dear little Bessie's stepmother, 
 is beginning to read in earnest the little 
 Bible Bessie loved so dearly, and we must 
 pray that she too may receive the kingdom 
 of God as a little child. She brought the 
 twins last week, and asked to be allowed 
 to send them to the school where Bessie 
 
yS The Motherless Bairns, 
 
 learned the way to heaven ; and the neigh- 
 bours say that she is wonderfully changed, 
 and so much more gentle than she used to 
 be. She comes regularly to the mothers' 
 meeting, and has been at church every 
 Sunday evening for the last two months. 
 She often says she is cut to the heart when 
 she thinks of poor little Bessie's gentle 
 ways, and how hard she used to be to her. 
 But I tell her not to grieve too much, for 
 1 the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from 
 all sin ; ' and little Bessie is where the 
 angels rejoice over one sinner that repent- 
 eth, and where the broken and contrite 
 heart is not despised. I think God is 
 giving her this broken heart, and perhaps 
 little Bessie is now, with those other bright 
 spirits, rejoicing over her. 
 
 " The dear little school is prospering ; 
 Jane Hardy is a great help, and, next to 
 Polly, the best monitress we have. They 
 often go to read to Mrs. Grey, and she 
 takes kindly to them for the love they bore 
 
The Motherless Bairns, 79 
 
 to little Bessie. It is cheering to see how 
 many dear children are gathering in ; and 
 everything, and especially the tokens for 
 good God has given us lately so strikingly, 
 seems to bid us ' not to be weary in well- 
 doing, for in due season we shall reap, if 
 we faint not.' 
 
 "In due season, Daisy ; that must mean 
 in God's own time — sooner or later — here 
 or there; and we in the meantime must 
 pray and hope, and patiently wait, while we 
 work on, till God shall call us to His own 
 rest ; and then, if not before the due time, 
 the day of harvest will come, when He 
 says, 'they who sow and they who reap 
 shall rejoice together/ 
 
 "Your affectionate sister, 
 
 "Susan Morley." 
 
 Dear, patient workers for Jesus in lowly 
 vineyards such as this, faint not, neither 
 be weary. Look up for the grace that is 
 sufficient for all difficulties and all dis- 
 
80 The Motherless Bairns. 
 
 couragements, and look on by faith to the 
 day when you shall see what God asks 
 you now perhaps to take on trust, that 
 " your labour is not in vain in the Lord." 
 
 In that day you shall find how the 
 long years of ploughing were not lost, but 
 were most surely preparing the way for 
 the precious seed ; how every grain you 
 once scattered for Him, watered by your 
 prayers, and perhaps by your tears, has 
 been guarded and watched over by your 
 Lord, and turned into golden sheaves, to 
 be laid down by you in the day of harvest 
 at His feet, saying, " Not unto us, O Lord, 
 not unto us, but unto Thy name be the 
 glory." 
 
 LONDON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, MIDDLE STREET, E.C