A little girl was lying sick, nigh unto death. Beside the bed her father was watching and weeping. "How much do I cost you, Papa, every year?" asked the dying child. Again and again she pressed the question, until her father named a certain sum, and asked, "Why do you ask this?" "Because," said the dear child, "I thought maybe you would lay that amount out this year in Bibles for poor children to remember me by." With heart swelling with deepest feeling, the father kissed the cold brow and replied, "I will, my child. I will do it every year, that you may draw others after you Heaven." -- Selected.
William Moses Tidwell, "Pointed Illustrations."
Be the first to react on this!
