Only a few years ago in the City there was a mother that had two sons. They were just going as fast as they could to ruin. They were breaking her heart, and she went into a little prayer-meeting and got up and presented them for prayer.
They had been on a drunken spree or had just got started in that way, and she knew that their end would be a drunkard’s grave, and she went among these Christians and said, “Won’t you just cry to God for my two boys?” The next morning those two boys had made an appointment to meet each other on the corner of the streets–though not that they knew anything about our meeting–and while one of them was there at the corner, waiting for his brother to come, he followed the people who were flooding into the depot building, and the spirit of the Lord met him, and he was wounded and found his way to Christ.
After his brother came he found the place too crowded to enter, so he too went curiously into another meeting and found Christ, and went home happy; and when he got home he told his mother what the Lord had done for him, and the second son came with the same tidings. I heard one of them get up afterwards to tell his experience in the young converts’ meeting, and he had no sooner told the story than the other got up and said: “I am that brother, and there is not a happier home in the town than we have got.”