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By
RALPH
CONNOR
IF
We walked slowly toward f:he stable, acts weu enough," lie went on. *1 uou ;
speaking no word. As wo neared Ike, mind Lnclilan. He’s a highland mystic
door wo heard the sound of a voice in and has visions. And Sandy’s almost
the monotone of one reading. I stepped as bad, and Bnptlsto Is an impulsive
forward and lookod through a chink be* little chap. Those don’t A count much,
tween the logs. Graeme was about to But old man Nelson ip a cool blooded,
open tlio door, but I held up ihy hand level 'headed old fellow!; has seen a'jot
and beckoned him to me. In a vacant of life too. And then thero’s Craig. Ho
stall, whero was a pile of straw, a has a better head than I have and is as
number of men wobo grouped. Sandy, , hot blooded, and yet he Is living and
leaning against the tying post, upon slaving away in that hole and really
which the Btablo lantern hung, was
reading; Nolson was kneeling’in front
, of him aud gazing Into the gloom be
yond; Bnptlsto lay upon his stomach,
his chin in his hands rind bis upturned
eyes fastened upon Sandy’s face;
it.”
“Oh, look hero, Graemel” I burst out
impatiently. “What’s the use of your
talking like that? Of course there’s
something In it. Thero’s everything in
Lachlan Campbell snt with his bands it. The trouble with mo is I Can’t fricc
clasped about his knees, and two other the music. It cnlls for a life whero a
men snt near him. Sandy Was reading | fellow must go In for.straight, steady
I|y,
ill
lifs #
1
Efef: ■ ■
tho undying story of the prodigal, Nel
son now and then stopping him to
make a remark. It was n scene I have
novor been ablo to forget. Today I
pnuso in my tale and seo it ns clearly
ns when I looked through the chink
upon it yonrs ago—tho long, low stable,
with log tvalls and upright hitching
poles; the dim outllnos of tho horses in
tho gloom of tho background, arid tho
llttlo group of rough, almost savago
looking, mon, with faces wondering
ahd reyoront, lighted by the misty, light
of tlio stablo lantern.
After tho reading Sandy handed tho
book to Nolson, who put it lti his pock
et, saying:
“Thnt’s for us, boys, ain’t it?”
“Ayo,” said Lachlan.' "It Is often
that has been road in my hearing, but
I am afraid it will not' bo for mo what
ever.” And ho stayed himself slightly
ns lio. spoke, and his voice was full of
pain.
“Tho minister said I might come,”
said old Nelson earnestly and hope
fully.
“Ayo, but you nro not Lachlan Camp
bell, and you have, not had bis privi
leges. My father was a godly elder In
the VreQ.Church of Scotland, and nev
er a night or morning hut we took tho
books."
, “Yob, but he said ‘any man,’” per
sisted Nolson, putting his hand on
Lachlan’s knee, but Lachlan shook his
head.
“Dat young feller,” said Baptiste—
“whn’s hoes nern, hob?”’
“Ho 1ms no nnmo. It is just a para
ble,” explained Saudy.
“Ho’s got no nom? He’s just .a par-
omblo? DaB no young foller?” asked
Bnptlsto anxiously. “Das menu not’*
lug?”
Then Nolson took him in hand and
explained to him tlio meaning, while
Baptiste listened oven moro eagerly,
ejaculating softly: “Ah, voilnl Bon!
By garl” When Nolson had finished,
ho broko out: “Dut young foller—his
name Baptiste, hob? And do old Fad-
dor—lie’s le bon Dleu? Bon! Das good
story Cor mo. How you go hack? You
go tp do pries’ ?”
“The book doesn’t sny priest or any
one else,” said Nolson. “You go hack In
yourself, you see?”
“Non; das so, sure nuff. Ah!” As If
a light broke in mlpn him. “Yob go in
your own self. You make ono lectio
prayer. You say, ‘Le bou Fadder. oli, I
want come back, I so tire, so kongree,
■ so sorted* He say, ‘Come right ’long.’
Ah, das fuss ratel Nelson, you make
one leetle prayer for Sandy and me.”
Nelson lifted up Ills face and said:
“Father, we’re all gone far away; we
have spent all; we are poor; we are
tired of it all; we want to feel differ*-
out, to he different; we want to come
back. Jesus came to save us from our
sins, and he said if wq came he
wouldn’t cast lis outi no matter 'how
bad we were, if we only crime to liliri.
O Jesus Christ,” and%is old iron face
began to work, and two big tears slow
ly came from under his eyelids, “we
are a poor lot, aud I’m the worst of the
lot, and we are trying to find the way.
Show us how to get back. Amen.”
“Bbnl” said Baptiste. “Das fetch
him sure!” ,
Graeme pulled me away, and with
out a word we went into tliq office and
drew up to the little stove. Graeme
Was greatly annoyed.
“Did you ever see anything like
that?” he asked—“old Nelson, the hard
est, savagest, toughest old sinner in the
camp, on his knees before a lot of
men!”
“Before God,” I could not help say
ing, for the thing seemed very real to
mo. The old man evidently felt himself
talking to some one!
“Yes, I suppose you’re right," said
Graeme doubtfully, “but there’s a lot
of stuff I can’t swallow.”
"When you take medicine, you don’t
swallow the bottle,” I replied, for his
■trouble was not mine.
“If I were sure of the medicine, I
wouldn’t mind the bottle, and yet it
Work, self denial and that sort of thing,
arid I’m too bohemian for that, and too
lazy. But that fellow Craig makes one
feel horribly uncomfortable.”
Graemo put his head on one side and
examined me curiously.
“I believe you’re right about your
self. You always woro a luxurious beg
gar. . But that’s not where it catches
nto.”
Wo sat and smoked and talked of
other things for an hour and then turn
ed In. As I wns dropping off I was
roused by Graeme’s voice:
“Are you going to the preparatory
service on Friday night?” t
* ‘.'Don’t know, • I replied rather sleep
ily-
“I say, do you remember the prepara
tory service at home?” Thero was
something In his voice that set me Wido
awake.
“Yes. Rather terrlflc, wasn’t it? But
I always felt better after it,” I'replied.
“To me”—bo was sitting up in bed
now—“to mo It wns like a call to arms,
or, ratbor, like a call for a forlorn
hope—none but volunteers wanted. Do
you remember tlie tlirlll In the old gov
ernor's voice as he dared any but ,tho
right stuff to come on?”
“We’ll go In oh Friday night,” I said.
And so wo did. Sandy took a lond of
men with his team, and Graeme and I
drove in the light sleigh.
Tho mooting was in the church, and
over a hundred men were present.
Thero wns some singing of familiar
hymns at first, and then Mr. Craig
road the same story as we had heard
in tlio stable, that most perfect of all
parables, tho prodigal, son. Baptiste
nudged Sandy In dejight and whisper
ed something, but Sandy held his face
so absolutely expressionless that
Graemo was moved to say:
“Look nt Sandy! Did you ever see
such a graven image? Something has
hit him hard.”
The mon were held fast by the story.
Tho volco of the render, low, earnest
and thrilling with the tender pathos
of the tale, carried the words to our
hearts, while a glance, a gesture, a
movefnent of the body, gave us the
.vision of it all as be wns seeing it.
Then, in simplest of words, bo told
us what the story meant, holding us
tho while with eyes and voice arid ges
ture.
He compelled us to scorn the gay,
heartless selfishness of the young fool
setting forth so-jauntily from the bro
ken homo; he moved our pity and our
sympathy for the young profligate,
who, broken and deserted, had still
pluck enough to determirie to work his
way back, and who, In utter despera
tion, at last gave it up, and then he
showed us the homecoming—the rag
ged, heartsick tramp, with hesitating
Steps, stumbling along the dusty road,
and then the rush of the old father, his
garments fluttering and his voice heard
in broken cries. I see and hear it all
now whenever the words are read.
He announced the hymn, “Just as I
Am,” read the first verse, arid then went
on: “There you are, men, every man of
you, somewhere on the road. Some of
you are too lazy”—here Graeme nudged
me—“and some of you haven’t got
enough yet of the far country to come
back. May there be a chance for you
when you want to come! Men, you all
Want to go buck home, arid when you
go you’ll want t.o put on your soft
clothes, and you won’t go till you can go
in good style. But where did the prodi
gal get his good clothes?”
Quick came the answer in Baptiste’s
shrill voice:
“From de old fadderl”
No one Was surprised, and the minis
ter went on: A
“Yes, and that’s where we must get
the good, cleap heart—the good, dean,
brave heart—from our Father. Don't
wait; but, just are you are, come.
Sing.”
They sang, not loud, as they would
“Stand Up” or even “The Sweet By,
and By,” but in voices subdued, hold
ing down the power in them.
said quietly:
- “Any, man want to come? You all
might come. We;all roust come.”
Then, sweeping , his arm over the au
dience and turning half round as if to
riiove off, he cried in a voice that thrill
ed to the heart’s core:
“Oh, come on! Let’s go back I”
Tho effees wps overpowering. It
seemed to me that tlio .whole company
linlf rose to their feet. Of the prayer
that immediately followed I only'
caught the opening sentence, “Father,
we are coming back,” for my attention
was suddenly absorbed by Abe, the
stage driver, who was sitting next me.
I could hear , him swearing approval
and admiration, saying to liltnsqif:
“Ain’t he a clinker? I’ll be gee whiz-
zly gol’ dusted if he ain’t a malleable
Iron, double back action, self adjusting
corn cracker.”
And the prayer continued, to be
punctuated With like admiring and
even more sulphurous expletives. It
was an incongruous medley. The enr-
enjoys it. There must be something ini nest, reverent prayer and the earnest,
admiring profanity.-, rendered chaotic
one’s ideas of religious propriety. The
feelings in both were nlyln, the method
of expression Bomewliat widely di
verse.
After prayer Craig’s tone changed
utterly. In a quiet, matter of fact,
businesslike way he stated his plan of
organization and called for all* who
wished to join to remain after the ben
ediction. Some fifty men were left,
ttulong them Nelson, Sandy, Lachlan
Campbell, Baptiste, Shaw, Nixon,
Geordle and Billy Breen, who tried to
get out, but wns hold fast by Geordle.
Graeme was passing out, but I signed
him to remain, saying that I wished
“to seo the 4hing out.” Abe sat still
beside me, swearing disgustedly nt the
follows “who .were goln’ hack on the
preacher.” Craig appeared amazed nt
the number of men remaining and
seemed, to fear that something was
wrong. He put before them the terms
of dlsciplesliip, as the Maker put them
to tho eager scribe, and he did not
make them easy. He pictured the kind
of work to be done and the kind of
men needed for tlio doing of it! Abe
grew uneasy as the minister went on
to describe the completeness of the sur
render, the intensity of the loyalty de
manded.
“That knocks me out, I reckon,” he
muttered in a disappointed tone. “1
ain’t up to that grade,” And ns Craig
described the heroism called for, the
magnificence of the fight, the worth of
It and the outcome of It all Abe ground
oqt, “I’ll bo blanked if I wouldn’t liko
to tnko a band, but I guess I’m‘not in
it.”
<■ Craig finished by saying:
“I Avant to put this quite fairly. It is
not any league of mine. You’re not
joining my compahy. It Is no easy
business, and it Is for your whole life.
What do you say? Do I put it fairly?
What do you say, Nelson?”
Nelson rose slowly and WitSi difficulty
began:
“I may be all wrong, but you made it
easier for me, Mr. Craig. You said ho
would see me through, or I should nev
er have risked it. Perhaps I am
wrong.” Aud the old man looked
troubled.
Craig sprang up.
“No, no! Thank God, no! He will
see every man through who will trust
his life to him—every man, no matter
how tough he is, no matter how bro
ken.”
Then Nelson straightened himself up
and said:
“Well, sir, I believe a lot of the men
would go in for this if they were dead
sure they would get through.”
“Get through!” said Craig. “Never
a fear of it! It is a*hard fight, a long
fight, a glorious fight,” throwing up his
head,i “but every man who squarely
trusts him and takes him as Lord and
Master comes out victor!"
“Bon!” said Baptiste. “Das me. You
tink be*s take me in dat fight, M’sieu
Craig, hell?”
His eyes were blazing.
“You mean it?” asked Craig almost,
sternly.
“Yes, by gar!” said the little French
man eagerly.
“Hear what lie. eriys,. then.” And
Craig, turning over the leaves of his
Testament, read solemnly the words,
“SWear not at all.”
“Non! For sure! Den I stop him,”
replied Baptiste earnestly, and Craig
Wrote his name down.
Poor Abe looked amazed and dis
tressed, rose slowly and, saying, “That
jars my Whisky jug,” passed out.
There was a slight movement near
the organ, and, glancing up, I saw
Mrs. Mavor put her face hastily in her
hands. The men’s faces were anxious
and troubled, and Nelson said in a
voice that broke:
‘Tell them what you told me, sir.”
But Craig was troubled, too, and re
plied, “You tell them, Nelsonl” And
Nelson told the men the story op how
he began just five weeks ago. The old
man’s voice steadied as he went on,
1 and he grew eager as he told how he
had been helped and how the world
was all different and his heart seemed
new. He spoke of hiq Friend as If he
were some one that could be seen out
at camp, that he knew well and met
everyday.
But as he tried to say how deeply he
gan to quiver, and the steady voice
wavered.' Then he pulled hinit-el- to
gether and said:
‘I begin to feel sure- he’ll pull me
through—me, the hardest man in the
moUritains! So don’t you fear, hoys.
He’s all right.”
Then the men gave in their names
one, by one. When it came to Geordie’s
turn, lie gave his name:
“George Crawford, frae.the parish o’
Kilsyth!" Scotland, an’ ye’ll juist -pit
doon the lad’s name, Maister Craig.
He’s a wee bit fashed wi’ the dis-
cooriic. but he lias the root o’ the mas
ter in him, I dcot.”
And so Billy Breen’s name went
down.
When, the meeting was over, thirty-
eight names stood upon the communion
roll of tho Black Rock rresbyterlan
church, and it will ever bft one of the
regrets of my life that neither
Graeme’s name nor my own appeared
on that roll. And two dliys after, when
the cup went round on that .first com
munion Sabbath,.from Nelson to Sandy
arid from Sandy to Baptiste, and so on
down the line to Billy Breen and Mrs.
Mayor, and then to Abe, the driver,
whom she had by her own mystic pow*
er lifted into, hope and faith,' I felt nil
the shame and pain of a traitor, and I
believe in my heart that the fire of that
pain and shame burned something of
the sqlfish cowardice out of me and
that it is burning still.
The last words of the minister, in
the short address after the table had
been served, were low and sweet and
tender, but they were words of high
courage,, and before he had spoken
them all the men were listening with
shining eyes, and when they rose to
sing the closing hymn they stood
straight and stiff like soldiers on pa
rade.
And I wished more than ever I was
one of them.
iO Bi'j CONTINUED.
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