“Yes,” I said, “brother, no woman could live with you as you are now, one would as soon live with a wolf; your hand is against every man and every man's hand is against you. But God can again make you an employer of men. He can make you a good husband and father, but you must find God first. Where is your mother?” I saw him shrink, and I knew then I had the key. “My going to prison killed my mother. I had a mill in a suburb of Philadelphia, and sometimes, after the day's work was done, I would step into a saloon and take a glass of beer with my foreman. I was not what you would call a drinking man. One evening we got into a dispute about something concerning the mill, and I picked up a monkey wrench and struck my foreman just one blow, but I killed him. All our property went for lawyer fees, all to no purpose, for I was sent to prison for ten years. I have just been pardoned,” and he drew the governor's pardon from his pocket. “When I went to my home I found strangers in it, but at last I found my wife and my children now nearly grown, but they would not let me live with them.” I knew perfectly well from other experiences that he had gone in violence and had been met with violence.
Mr. McMasters now took the case. He said, “If your mother were now living, do you believe she would have received you?” “I am sure she would. The warden often told us that our mothers would stay by us, that children grew ashamed of a father in prison, wives persuaded themselves that it only kept up their grief, but a mother's love is like that of the God above, it remains. But mother died.”
“Well, you want to meet her again, do you not?” “Yes, but my mother was a Christian.” “That is it; let us kneel and talk to your mother's God.” Reluctantly, growling that God cared nothing for a poor devil like him, he kneeled, and with the three of us kneeling about him, we each one presented the case to God, calling on the “God whom this man's mother loved and served, asking mercy for a broken life, a broken home and a broken heart.” By the time the last one prayed his head was on the chair and he was sobbing. Then he prayed for himself, and God came down and the old alchemy of God turned the heart of stone to a heart of flesh, and George Gneiss was born into the kingdom of God. It was not difficult to get him a place as a skilled miller, and from that day to this he has made good.