A Mr. W----, whom we had employed for some years, a man of much more than ordinary piety and qualifications for the work, while visiting in the mountains, came to a poor cabin occupied by a man, his wife, and an only son. They were very poor. The father made his living by grubbing, and took the boy with him to pick the brush, he being at this time about sixteen years old. They carried home their wages on their backs, mostly in some kind of food. The mother made what she earned by her spinning-wheel; and while at that, had taught her son to read the Testament, though she was not religious. Mr. W----, after talking and praying with them, gave this boy a copy of Baxter’s Call, which was the means of his conversion. Before he could join the church, the neighbors aided in getting him a suit of clothes.
He immediately set about to improve himself in every possible way. There was no school near; and if there had been, he had no means to go. His first efforts in learning to write were, by copying the letters out of a book with his finger in the snow. He borrowed and read all the books he could get, and attended a little church where there was preaching once each month.
About two years afterwards I received a letter by some private way from this same boy, D. W. S----. On opening it, I made out its contents with some difficulty. It was an application to become a colporteur. In the letter he referred me to the Rev. Mr. R----, who lived in town. I went to him, showed him the letter, and asked him if he knew the writer. He laughed: “Yes, very well; I received him into the church. D---- is a good boy, but he is without education, and knows nothing of the world; he has never been ten miles from home in his life.”
I wrote the young man a kind letter, saying I hoped he would make a colporteur some day, and advised him to go to school a while.
The next thing I heard from him was a rap at my door. When I opened the door, an awkward-looking youth near six feet high stood before me, with the same suit of clothes on him he had got over two years before. The pants were several inches too short, and the coat-sleeves as deficient; indeed, the coat was little more than a big patch on his back. Said he, “I am the _fellow_ that wrote you a letter about wanting to _colport_, and I have come to see about it.” I invited him into the house. He was all in a tremor of excitement. When I opened the parlor door he looked in with amazement, and in walking to a seat avoided stepping on the white spots in the carpet, which was the first one he ever saw. He was so embarrassed he could scarcely speak.