"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 in the dreary eyes, and she spoke with eagerness. "Do you say he can do everything?" "_Everything._ 'Whatever ye ask in my name, _believing_, ye shall receive.' These are his own words." "Does he believe in rum?" "No!" promptly replied the startled, but strongly temperate John Birge. "Then I'll pray," was the quick response. "I never prayed in my life, but I will now; like enough I can save him yet. You folks think he can hear everything that's said, don't you?" Strangely moved as well as startled, her visitor answered her only by a bow. The shaking hands were clasped, and in a clear firm voice the sick woman spoke: "O Lord, don't let Tode ever drink a drop of rum!" Then the little boy crouching in the corner, rose up and came quickly over to his mother. "Keep away, Tode," said the woman at the foot of the bed, speaking in an awe-stricken voice. "Keep away, don't touch her; she ain't talking to you." Not so much as a glance did the mother bestow upon her boy, but repeated over and over again the sentence, "O Lord, don't let Tode ever touch a drop of rum." "Is that the way?" she asked, suddenly turning her sharp bright eyes full on Mr. Birge. "Is that the way they pray? are them the right kind of words to use?" "My poor friend," began he, but she interrupted him impatiently. "Just tell me if that's the name you call him by when you pray?" "Yes," he said. "Only won't you add to them, 'And forgive and save _me_ for Jesus' sake.'" "Never mind me," she answered, promptly. "'Tain't of no consequence about me, never has been; and I haven't no time to waste on myself. I want to save him. 'O Lord, don't let Tode ever touch a drop of rum.'"