With an air of humility fully in accord with his worn and patched appearance, he walked up the stairs in advance of me on Monday morning, as I arrived at my office to attend to the day's duties. With resigned yet hopeful bearing, he sought at the various offices in the building for small jobs. He was a chore boy, and would empty ashes or sweep stairs for a few cents. I knew he would soon call at my own door to ask if there was anything I would have done, and I resented it in advance. I had nothing for him to do; why should he, nearly every mornbig, persist in coming to my door and asking: "Is there anything you would like to have done?" "I will sweep your stairs for five cents if you would like," etc., etc., when he must know I rarely or never had such jobs for any one! Such were my thoughts as, having reached my room, I added a fresh stock of coal to the fire—for it was winter. While thus engaged, the door opened, and a voice deferentially asked: "Will you have the ashes emptied this morning?" Quickly and shortly I answered, "No, sir!" without turning my head; but the cadence of his voice had a pathos that, an instant later, made me turn my eyes toward the boy. Yes; God was in his face. He only wanted work that he might earn a pittance; and for that had tried to ask me kindly, respectfully, that he might not seem a weariness. The smilingly patient, yet not despairing look lingered in his face as he quietly acquiesced and respectfully withdrew—doubtless for the twentieth time that very morning in compliance with practically the same reply.
The time for sermons is said to be Sunday—and this was Monday. Moreover, sermons are delivered by clergymen in broadcloth, to well-dressed, well-fed people; and are uttered from church-pulpits in high-sounding phrases and well-rounded periods. This boy's dress was worn, colorless, ill-fitting; his words few and common: yet the patient, long-suffering God shone from his face; and, all unconscious of its eloquence, without pay, he had preached a sermon to a solitary auditor who learned that, in the absence of the desired work to give, we at least have within reach to bestow good thoughts and encouraging words. Inspired by Love, these may be worth far more than that which is consciously sought.
When we see God's likeness imaged forth, we become helpless, dumb, spell-bound for a time; then, feeling its limitless power and attraction, we find new courage ourselves to reflect more clearly and truly that glorious Image.
