GRAN'S THIEF by E. W. O'Donny

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Apr 12, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 15.

GRAN'S THIEF.

By E. W. O'Donny

(Concluded.)

"HEAR the child!" exclaimed Gran, catching him to her breast. "Any one would almost think he was coming."

"Well, ain't he? Won't Jesus bring him when we ask Him? I thought He would. I won't pray to Him if He won't do as He says." And he stood looking earnestly into Gran's eyes. She returned his look, but said nothing.

"Gran, say, won't Jesus do it? 'Cause I want to know what to 'spect."

Just a minute Gran waited, and then reached for her Bible—the new one that had replaced the stolen one—and said:—

"We will see just what Jesus Himself says about it." The child came close, and, leaning against her, patted every leaf down as she turned it, until she came to the place.

"This is what Jesus says," and she read John 14:14, "If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it." Yes, He—will—do—it, for it is all in His name. He will do it."

"O, I'm so glad!" cried the child, as he ran and leaped into the middle of his little bed. "And I'll watch for him, and we'll be so glad to see him, won't we, Gran?"

"Yes, you precious!" sobbed Gran, as she bent over the little face and kissed it again and again, dropping fast-falling tears upon it all the time.

"You cryin'? Is you sorry, Gran?"

"No, but so glad. Sometimes we old folks cry when little folks would jump and laugh."

The next morning, bright and early, Ned found his little son sitting on the gate-post looking off down the long avenue.

"You're out early, seems to me," he said, "and up rather high."

"Yes, I have to be; I'm watchin'."

"Watching?"

"Yes; for Jesus' and Gran's thief; and he's my thief too!"

Ned opened his lips, then closed them. He could not say just what he had on the end of his tongue, but after a moment he did say:—

"How are you going to know him if he comes? There are lots of thieves."

"O, Jesus will know him, and of course He'll tell me; and Gran will know him too!"

Ned walked quickly away, calling back in a husky voice:—

"See that you don't fall, young man."

That evening Ned told Gran and Emily about it, and Gran said:—

"Dear little watchman!" then, as if by a sudden impulse, she continued: "Don't hinder him, Ned; don't cloud his faith. When I fail, you'll stand by, won't you, and be good to that poor soul when he comes? You will, won't you, Ned?"

"Never you worry, Gran. You know that anything you set your heart on is sacred to me, don't you? I'll stand by."

How it all came back to him the next morning. The child came down alone, and in his nightdress. He always went to Gran's room to be dressed, after which they came down together hand in hand, he leaping around her, tugging at her, and sometimes almost making her sway on her poor old legs; for she was not so strong as she used to be.

"Well, well," said mama, "how does this happen? Where is Gran?"

"O, she's prayin' yet! I said all o' mine, and then I waited; and I didn't like to say, 'Please, Gran, dress me,' when she was prayin' for her thief yet. Would you? So I just kissed her soft—and her cheek is awful cold—then I came down by my own self. You comin' up to dress me now, mama?"

But mama was upstairs already. The child followed, and saw mama standing with her hands clasped, beside the kneeling form that with upturned face and closed eyes was bathed with the light of the morning sun, as it streamed in and filled the room.

That evening as it came to the hour when the child and Gran had always gone to his little room together to pray before he was put to bed, he seemed like a bird that had lost his mate, and, creeping up to his father, he took his hand and said:—

"I want Gran."

"So do I, child," said Ned.

"And what is we goin' to do 'bout prayin' for you and mama and me, and Gran's thief?" No answer.

"Say, papa," and the child climbed up onto his father's knees, put his little hands on either side of his face, and held it straight before him. "Answer me, papa; for I's awfully 'fraid I can't pray it all alone; I ain't big nough." Then, as with a sudden inspiration, he cried: "O papa, you never prayed with me, not even once; won't you come now? And I's sleepy too."

Ned waited only a minute. He had resisted the gentle appeals from the tender heart that was cold and still in that upper room, but now, almost without realizing what he was doing, he arose and followed the little feet that led the way to the place of prayer.

As he was ascending the stairway, suddenly for the first time he remembered Gran's request on the night before, and his hearty promise; and, drawing himself up with a vigorous movement, he solemnly, conscientiously, shouldered the responsibility which was entailed.

"I didn't know what I was saying when I said what I did," he thought, "but I'll stand by. I'll keep it letter and spirit, so help me God."

Emily had overheard, and, softly following, she came to the little room just as Ned and the child had kneeled together. She dropped down beside them, and Gran's thief was prayed for in the midst of such personal revelations from the Holy Spirit as made these two very respectable people think of him as only a brother sinner.

After the child was in bed Ned and Emily slipped into the silent room where the dead form was sleeping, and as by one impulse bowed in humble self-surrender to the Father and Saviour, to whose faithfulness her life had been a testimony.

"Emily," said Ned as they arose, "of course that special tramp will never turn up, but what do you say?—let's make this room a sort of a tramp's refuge. We can pick our tramps, of course, and be careful; but somehow I feel like doing it. That bath-room can be given up to them, and—well, when it's necessary we can get the folks from the mission—dear old Gran's brothers and sisters; how she loved them!—they will be glad to come up and help us. Maybe I can do it all myself."

"I should be glad," said Emily. "I always wanted to be good like Gran, and to do things for folks." And, throwing her arms about him, "O, I shall be so glad if we can together let all that dear saint's prayers be answered, and our babe's too! I have stood outside the door and heard them pray for us until it has almost killed me sometimes."

"Well, dear, we will do it. God helping me, I'll do my share. We must tell babe all about it. He has a right to know," said Ned huskily.

The night after Gran was laid away Ned took the child on his knees and comforted him by telling him all that he and mama had promised to do. "And I have made up my mind to go to the mission," he said, "and bring home the

fellow that needs us the most, if I can find him."

"But Gran's thief, papa, where'll you put him? My bed aint big 'nough."

"When I find him"—

"But you don't have to find him," interrupted the child. "He's comin' his own self."

It was late when Emily heard steps on the front porch that night. She hastened to open the door, for, while Ned was not alone, he had evidently failed to find his tramp.

"This is my wife," he said to the man who was with him, "and—I had a good mind to tell you that she would be expecting a tramp, and be disappointed. But the tramp will keep, dear; there are plenty of them. The mission folks could care for all they had to-night. This brother has come to do a work for homeless men. He addressed the meeting. I was so interested I wanted to talk with him about his plans, so I invited him to stay with us while he is in the city."

Emily gave the stranger her hand, and with a look of great peace on her face said:—

"Well, I got the room ready for a tramp—Gran's thief, in fact, Ned. Of course we didn't expect him, but I couldn't help doing it all with him in mind; and I'm glad now I made it just as nice and comfortable as I could; but it is very late, dear; I suppose our guest is tired."

"Yes, I will show him right up."

"I am tired; it is late," said the stranger; "but I am deeply touched by what you have said. I feel that I must be going into a very holy place."

"You are," said Emily. "It was Gran's room, and she was a saint. She's just been taken out of it, and"—

"And," said Ned, "we had given it to the Lord's homeless men. That is why I wanted to talk with you; but we will let you rest until to-morrow, then will get acquainted all around."

The child awakened at the usual hour, having utterly forgotten overnight that anything had happened, and, springing from his little bed, tapped, as had been his wont, on the door across the hall.

"Come in."

But the voice was strange. Then he remembered—his heart swelled, his lip quivered, and a sob swept up from his breast. But he was too much interested in the occupant of the room to pause, even if the hand of the stranger had not swung the door open to him.

The stranger's face was very pale, and marked with tears, and he held two Bibles, one on top of the other, in his hand.

"Well, good-morning, my little man," he said huskily.

"Are you a tramp, and have you been cryin' too?" asked the child.

"Yes, I have been crying, and I am a tramp—redeemed."

"What is redeemed?"

"Saved and bought by the dear Lord Jesus."

"O, yes, that is what Gran and I always prayed 'bout—her thief, you know; and I thought maybe he'd come, 'cause we's been 'spectin' him a long time; and she's gone and dead, but papa, and mama, and I's waitin' for him just the same!"

The man stood an instant struggling with a flood of tears that choked his speech, then, lifting the child in his arms, with the two books in his hand, he went down to the room from which came sounds of life. He found Ned and Emily together, and without even the ordinary morning greeting, he said:—

"I am he; I have met the angel in the way many times in my life, but now I feel that I have almost come face to face with my God.

When I arose this morning, and saw this Bible on my table, I opened it, and—see—it's the same name. This old one was in the valise that I stole. Then this little hand tapped on the door; I opened it, and the child told me the rest. O, the amazing mercy of God! But how I wish I could have come a few days sooner! O, if I could have seen her, and asked her to forgive me!"

"But," said Ned, "a few days sooner would have been too soon. You're just in time."

"Course you is just in time," said the child. "And me and Gran knew you would be—only she said you looked rough and stubby, like mama's gloves. But, O, I's awful glad you're come, if you is lots whiter'n we 'spected'!"