Seven bright summers have passed away since little Irish Ned first saw the light of day. In his own estimation he is now quite a man. Granny must put him in long pants, and then he will trot out to earn a living for himself. Down to the newspaper office he goes with a friend who tells his story. The “Circulation Manager” is very sympathetic, and Ned gets his first bundle of papers. Oh, how proud he was. Not a prouder boy or man in all Winnipeg. At six o’clock in the morning his little feet would carry him across the overhead bridge to Portage Avenue, and soon his voice would be heard crying “Free Press! Morning Free Press!” along Portage Avenue, up Main Street and down Selkirk to his home. In the afternoon the same shrill call would be heard heralding the evening papers, “Press, ’Bune and Telegram.” Of them all he preferred the Free Press, but necessity knows no law, and it was, as he said, “to make his pile and get rich quick,” that he sold the “’Bune and Tely.”

On Sunday he was always at morning service, sitting in the South Transept near the Font. He loved the Sunday School, and right joyously rang his sweet, childish treble in the chants and hymns; but when it came to the hymn, “Just as I am, I come,” then his whole soul seemed afire, and the thrilling, rapturous music gushed from his little throat and ascended Heavenwards as the angels’ songs must ascend to the summit of God’s Throne.

“In the glad morning of my day,
My life to give, my vows to pay,
With no reserve and no delay,
With all my heart I come.

“Just as I am, young, strong and free,
To be the best that I can be,
For truth and righteousness and Thee,
Lord of my life, I come.

“And for Thy sake to win renown,
And then to take the victor’s crown,
And at Thy feet to cast it down,
O Master, Lord, I come.”

It was the sweet, enchanting strain of a pure and innocent soul registering its determination to be worthy of the God from Whom it sprung.

Day followed day, and week in week out, in sunshine and in rain, Ned sold his papers and won his way. All came to know and admire and love little Irish Ned. His honest, bright, little face and winsome, dimpled smile won him hosts of friends; but he never forgot the dearest friend of all, his good old Granny. And still as long as evening twilight lingered, the setting sun, peeping through the western window in the green frame church, found the two kneeling on the chancel step offering up the prayer of Faith and Love.