He made that old piano fairly talk. "Ah," said I, "here is
another 'volunteer organist.'" I had seen the man and talked with him
lots of times before, but always took him for a common drunkard. You
can't tell what an old coat covers.
After the meeting I had a little talk with him and asked him why he was
in such a condition. "Oh," he answered, "it's the old, old story, Mr.
Ranney--the drink habit. I know what you are going to say: why don't I
cut it out? Well, I can't. I have tried time and again. I'll go on
drinking until I die." I told him to stop trying and ask God to help
him, just to lean on His arm, He wouldn't let him fall. I left him
thinking it over, and I kept track of him, getting in an odd word here
and there and giving him food and lodging.
In four weeks we won out and he became a good Christian man. Now he
plays at our meetings and takes a share in them, giving his testimony.
I've had him over to my home many times. He takes great delight in our
garden there and waits with longing for Thursday to come, for that's the
day he visits us, the best one in the week for him. There's nothing like
the country for building a man up.
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