In a nullah in far-away South Africa lay about a dozen wounded men. They
had been lying there for hours, their lives slowly ebbing away. One of
them was a Roman Catholic, who had been a ringleader of persecution in
the barrack room at home. Not far from him lay 'little Jemmie,' wounded
severely, whom many a time the Roman Catholic had persecuted in the days
gone by. Hour after hour the Roman Catholic soldier lay bleeding there,
until at last a strange dizzy sensation came over him which he fancied
was death. He looked across to where, in the darkness, he thought he
could distinguish 'little Jemmie.' With difficulty he crawled across to
him, and bending over the wounded lad, he roused him.

'Jemmie, lad,' he said, 'I have watched you in the barrack room and seen
you pray. Jemmie, lad, do you think you could say a prayer for me?'

And Jemmie roused himself with an effort, and, trying hard to get upon
his knees, he began to pray. By-and-by the other wounded soldiers heard
him, and all who could crawl gathered round, and there, in that far-away
nullah, little Jemmie 'said a prayer' for them all. Surely a strange and
almost ghastly prayer-meeting that! As they prayed, some one noticed the
flicker of a light in the distance. They knew not who it was--Briton or
Boer--who moved in the distant darkness. Jemmie, however, heeded it not,
but prayed earnestly for deliverance. The light came nearer, and the
wounded lads began to call with all their remaining strength for help.
And at last it came to them--the light of a British stretcher party--and
they were carried to help and deliverance.

'And now,' said the Roman Catholic soldier, who, on his return from the
war, told this story to the Rev. T.J. McClelland, 'I know that God will
hear the prayer of a good man as well as the prayer of a priest, for he