died a great while ago, whose death made a great difference to
us, I could not understand how. It seemed like a lovely story,
the loveliest in the world, but it sounded as if it were only a
story, even to those who repeated it to me; something that had
happened far away in the past.

But one day a strange minister came into the Sabbath-school in
our little chapel, and spoke to us children about Him, oh! so
differently!

"Children," he said, "Jesus is not dead. He is alive: He loves
you, and wants you to love Him! He is your best Friend, and He
will show you how to be good."

My heart beat fast. I could hardly keep back the tears. The New
Testament, then, did really mean what it said! Jesus said He
would come back again, and would always be with those who loved
Him.

"He is alive! He loves me! He will tell me how to be good!" I
said it over to myself, but not to anybody else. I was sure that
I loved Him. It was like a beautiful secret between us two. I
felt Him so alive and so near! He wanted me to be good, and I
could be, I would be, for his sake.

That stranger never knew how his loving word had touched a
child's heart. The doors of the Father's house were opened wide
again, by the only hand that holds the key. The world was all
bright and fresh once more. It was as if the May sun had suddenly
wakened the flowers in an overshadowed wayside nook.