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Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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interested as a child in his plans, and the next evening was spent in cutting out paper crosses as suggested in the lesson, one for every scholar he expected to be present, and lettering them with the golden text.
He spent another e vening still in making an elaborate picture on the reverse side of the blackboard, to be used at the close of his lesson after he had led up to it by more simple work on the other side.
He even went so far as to take the hymn-book and select the hymns, and to write out a regular program. No one should catch him napping this time. Neither should the prayer be forgotten. Uncle Moses would be there, and they could trust him to pray.
Christie was a little anxious about his music, for upon that he depended principally for success. He felt surprised over himself that he so much wished to succeed, when a week ago he had not cared. What would he do, though, if Mortimer did not turn up, or, worse still, if he had planned more mischief?
But the three friends appeared promptly on the hour, gravity on their faces and helpfulness in the very atmosphere that surrounded them. They had no more practical jokes to play. They had recognized that for some hidden reason Christie meant to play this thing out in earnest, and their liking and respect for him were such that they wanted to assist in the same spirit.
They liked him none the less for his prompt handling of the case of liquors. They carried a code of honor in that colony that respected moral courage when they saw it. Besides, everybody liked Christie.
They listened gravely to Christie's lesson, even with interest. They took their little paper crosses, and studied them curiously, and folded them away in their breast pockets,—Armstrong had passed them about, being careful to reserve three for himself, Mortimer, and Rushforth,—and they sang with a right good will.
And , when the time came to leave, they shook hands with Christie like the rest, and without the least mocking in their voices said they had had a pleasant time and they would come again. Then each man took up a box and a board, and stowed them away as he passed out.
And thus was Christie set up above the rest to a position of honor and respect. This work that he had taken up—that they had partly forced him to take up—separated him from them somewhat, and perhaps it was this fact that Christie had to thank afterward for his freedom from temptation during those first few weeks of the young man's acquaintance with his heavenly Father.
For how would it have been possible for him to grow into the life of Christ if he had been constantly meeting and drin king liquor with these boon companions?
The new life could not have grown with the old.
Christie's action that first Sunday afternoon had made a difference between him and the rest. They could but recognize it, and they admired it in him; therefore they set him up. What was there for Christie but to try to act up to his position?
Before the end of another week there arrived from the North a package of books and papers and Sunday-school cards and helps such as would have delighted the heart of the most advanced Sunday-school teacher of the day. What those girls could not think of, the head of the large religious bookstore to which they had gone thought of for them, and Christie had food for thought and action during many a long, lonely evening.
And always these evenings ended in his kneeling in the dark, where he fancied the light of Christ's halo in the picture could send its glow upon him, and saying aloud in a clear voice, "My Father," while outside in the summer-winter night was only the wailing of the tall pines as they waved weird fingers dripping with gray moss, or th e plaintive call of the tit-willow, through the night.
There had come with the package, too, a letter for Christie. He put it in his breast pocket with glad anticipation, and hustled that pony home at a most unmerciful trot; at least, so thought the pony.
When Hazel
He spent another e vening still in making an elaborate picture on the reverse side of the blackboard, to be used at the close of his lesson after he had led up to it by more simple work on the other side.
He even went so far as to take the hymn-book and select the hymns, and to write out a regular program. No one should catch him napping this time. Neither should the prayer be forgotten. Uncle Moses would be there, and they could trust him to pray.
Christie was a little anxious about his music, for upon that he depended principally for success. He felt surprised over himself that he so much wished to succeed, when a week ago he had not cared. What would he do, though, if Mortimer did not turn up, or, worse still, if he had planned more mischief?
But the three friends appeared promptly on the hour, gravity on their faces and helpfulness in the very atmosphere that surrounded them. They had no more practical jokes to play. They had recognized that for some hidden reason Christie meant to play this thing out in earnest, and their liking and respect for him were such that they wanted to assist in the same spirit.
They liked him none the less for his prompt handling of the case of liquors. They carried a code of honor in that colony that respected moral courage when they saw it. Besides, everybody liked Christie.
They listened gravely to Christie's lesson, even with interest. They took their little paper crosses, and studied them curiously, and folded them away in their breast pockets,—Armstrong had passed them about, being careful to reserve three for himself, Mortimer, and Rushforth,—and they sang with a right good will.
And , when the time came to leave, they shook hands with Christie like the rest, and without the least mocking in their voices said they had had a pleasant time and they would come again. Then each man took up a box and a board, and stowed them away as he passed out.
And thus was Christie set up above the rest to a position of honor and respect. This work that he had taken up—that they had partly forced him to take up—separated him from them somewhat, and perhaps it was this fact that Christie had to thank afterward for his freedom from temptation during those first few weeks of the young man's acquaintance with his heavenly Father.
For how would it have been possible for him to grow into the life of Christ if he had been constantly meeting and drin king liquor with these boon companions?
The new life could not have grown with the old.
Christie's action that first Sunday afternoon had made a difference between him and the rest. They could but recognize it, and they admired it in him; therefore they set him up. What was there for Christie but to try to act up to his position?
Before the end of another week there arrived from the North a package of books and papers and Sunday-school cards and helps such as would have delighted the heart of the most advanced Sunday-school teacher of the day. What those girls could not think of, the head of the large religious bookstore to which they had gone thought of for them, and Christie had food for thought and action during many a long, lonely evening.
And always these evenings ended in his kneeling in the dark, where he fancied the light of Christ's halo in the picture could send its glow upon him, and saying aloud in a clear voice, "My Father," while outside in the summer-winter night was only the wailing of the tall pines as they waved weird fingers dripping with gray moss, or th e plaintive call of the tit-willow, through the night.
There had come with the package, too, a letter for Christie. He put it in his breast pocket with glad anticipation, and hustled that pony home at a most unmerciful trot; at least, so thought the pony.
When Hazel
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