He put it in my hand, and then I saw that it was part of a bible, with
nearly the upper half of it worn or cut away, and the rest partly in a
state of pulp.
"That's the bible my mother gave me when I left home first," he said. "I
don't know how I came to put it in my pocket, but I think the rope that cut
through that when I was lashed to the shrouds would a'most have cut through
my ribs if it hadn't been for it."
"Very likely," I returned. "The body of the Bible has saved your bodily
life: may the spirit of it save your spiritual life."
"I think I know what you mean, sir," he panted out. "My mother was a good
woman, and I know she prayed to God for me."
"Would you like us to pray for you in church to-day?"
"If you please, sir; me and Bob Fox. He's nearly as bad as I am."
"We won't forget you," I said. "I will come in after church and see how you
are."
I knelt and offered the prayers for the sick, and then took my leave. I did
not think the poor fellow was going to die.
I may as well mention here, that he has been in my service ever since.
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