Three People | Page 4

know all about how these three baby
brothers commenced their lives.
CHAPTER II.
JOHN BIRGE'S OPPORTUNITY.
One day it rained--oh, terribly. Albany is not a pleasant city when it
rains, and Rensselaer Street is not a pleasant street. That was what John
Birge thought as he held his umbrella low to avoid the slanting drops,
and hurried himself down the muddy road, hurried until he came to a
cellar stairs, and then he stopped short in the midst of rain and wind,
such a pitiable sight met his eye, the figure of a human being, fallen
down on that lowest stair in all the abandonment of drunkenness.
"This is awful!" muttered John Birge to himself. "I wonder if the poor
wretch lives here, and if I can't get him in."
Wondering which, he hurried down the stairs, made his way carefully
past the "poor wretch" and knocked at the door. No answer. He
knocked louder, and this time a low "come in" rewarded him, and he
promptly obeyed it. A woman was bending over a pile of straw and
rags, and an object lying on top of them; and a squalid child, curled in
one corner, with a wild, frightened look in his eyes. The woman turned
as the door opened, and John Birge recognized her as his mother's
washerwoman.
"Oh, Mr. Birge," she said, eagerly, "I'm too thankful for anything at
seeing you. This woman is going so fast, she is; and what to do I don't
know."
Mr. Birge set down his umbrella and shook himself free of what drops
he could before he approached the straw and rags; then he saw that a
woman lay on them, and on her face the purple shadows of death were
gathering.

"What is it?" he asked, awe-struck. "What is the matter?"
"Clear case of murder, I call it. Her man is a drunkard, and a fiend, too,
leastways when he's drunk he is--and he's pitched her down them there
stairs once too often, I reckon. I was goin' to my work early this
morning, and I heard her groaning, so I come in, and I just staid on ever
since. Feelings is feelings, if a body does have to lose a day's work to
pay for 'em. She lies like that for a spell, and then she rouses up and has
an awful turn."
"Turn of what? Is she in pain?"
"No, I reckon not; it's her mind. She knows she's going, and it makes
her wild, like. Maybe you can talk to her some, and do her good--there,
she sees you!"
A pair of stony, rather than wild, eyes were suddenly fixed on Mr.
Birge's face. He bent over her and spoke 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