THE QUALITY OF MERCY

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Sep 19, 1900

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 26, No. 38.

"THE QUALITY OF MERCY."

It was twilight; overhead a leaden sky arched, unbroken save by a rim of light just above the horizon, across which a band of pure, bright rose color gave promise of a sunshiny day to follow. To the shabbily-clad old woman standing on the wharf, no bright ray illumined the dull grayness of the coming to-morrows. Unheeding the roseate bar of light dancing across the ripples to her very feet, Grandma Morse was looking out into a vista of colorless, leaden days, stretching on and on, until the long-hoped-for end should come.

It is hard to find the glimpse of light in the future when one has just been turned out of a home, however poor, with nowhere to go and no friend to whom to appeal. And this was the condition which the lonely old woman was facing at that twilight hour.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Grandma Morse found herself face to face with a big blue-coated policeman. "Hadn't you better go home now, grandma?" he suggested. "It'll soon be dark, and you won't want to be away down here alone, you know."

"But I haven't any home to go to," poor grandma faltered; "I haven't anywhere in the wide world to go."

The officer looked perplexed. "I suppose," he said slowly, "that you'll have to go with me to the station-house. We'll make it as pleasant for you as we can, grandma, and you'll be better off there than here." And as the last rose tints faded from the western sky the old lady turned and followed the officer.

The matron was very kind, and made everything as comfortable as she could; but Grandma Morse, who had been arrested on a charge of vagrancy, was overcome with shame and misery.

Outside, the clouds were breaking away, and one by one the bright stars twinkled out. The clearest and largest of them all peeped straight into the tiny window, and sent a ray of white light over to the cot where the lonely, gray-haired woman lay struggling with her sorrow. At last, looking up, the dim eyes perceived the radiance of the cheerful, persevering star, and a gleam of hope pierced her own gloom and cheered the saddened heart. She thought of another cot, humbler than her own, over which a bright star had once rested, and into her consciousness floated like a benediction the words, "Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end." Comforted and quieted, the old lady sank into a peaceful sleep.

It was morning when she awoke, and the sun was shining brightly. Wondering at her strange surroundings, she arose and slowly dressed herself. Alone, in a station-house, with the terrifying prospect of a summons to appear before an unknown judge, the peace of the preceding night still remained with her; and it was with a song in her heart that Grandma Morse entered the court-room and took her place before the bar of justice.

The judge, a benevolent-looking man, looked keenly over the tops of his gold-bowed glasses as the old lady told her pitiful story in her simple, straightforward way—husband and children all gone, poverty, and final loss of home. That was all; but there were tears in many eyes when the tale was told.

"Can you take care of children, grandma?" the judge asked suddenly.

"Indeed, I can, sir," was the eager reply, "and love them, too."

"Then," said the judge slowly, "I have a home for you, with a dollar and a half a week besides. My little people are still mourning the loss of their own grandmother."

There was a flutter of surprise, even among those who knew Judge Rice best; but grandma herself was calm and happy.

"Alway, even unto the end," sang the chorus in her heart, and a gentle smile illumined the dear old face as she thanked the kind-hearted judge and quietly resumed her seat.

It was an arrangement never regretted by either, and Grandma Morse, adopted by her loving little charges into the place made vacant by the other grandmother, accepted with unquestioning trust and faith the home and care, which did, indeed, endure to the end.

And so it came to pass that the rose color crept into the twilight of Grandma Morse's gray afternoon, and the promise came true, "At evening time it shall be light."—Young People.