Part 62 (1/2)

They both started, and looked at him and then at each other, but neither made any remark.

The chapter the old man read was a long one, and the prayer was longer still, but Rufus showed no sign of weariness. In fact, the little granny's quick ears fancied they heard a whispered ”Amen” when the prayer ended.

Rufus rose slowly from his knees with a serene look upon his handsome face.

”My dear boy, we have never ceased praying for you,” his granny said, placing her thin hands upon his strong shoulders and looking up into his face.

”I hope you will continue to pray for me,” he answered, quietly. ”I shall need all your prayers.”

”Rufus?” the old man said, in a questioning tone, and he turned suddenly and looked into his grandson's eyes.

Rufus felt that, having said so much, he was bound to say more.

”No, grandfather,” he answered, quietly; ”you must not claim me as a returning prodigal. Your creed is as far beyond me as ever. But--I think--I think I have found the Christ.”

Instantly the old man's arms were about his neck, and, raising his face, he laughed aloud.

”It is enough,” he said, exultantly. ”It is enough! To G.o.d be all the praise.”

The ice being broken, conversation flowed in a deeper channel, and when the Rev. Reuben laid his head upon his pillow that night, it was with a kindlier feeling in his heart for those who doubted, and with a larger charity for those who preached a broader creed.

”It is very strange,” he mused, ”that my preaching should have driven the lad to doubt, while the preaching of my successor should have helped him back to faith.”

On the following morning Rufus went with the old people to chapel. The place seemed very cool and restful after the glare of the suns.h.i.+ne outside, and while the familiar hymns were being sung he felt like a boy again.

Marshall Brook took for his text: ”Are ye not better than many sparrows?” It was a quiet, thoughtful, searching sermon, without dogmatism and with no trace of declamation. The care of the Great Father for His children, the doctrine of a Divine Providence, was unfolded carefully, lucidly, reasonably. There was no attempt to ignore difficulties or to give scientific objections the go-by. Providence was not in conflict with the operations of nature. Providence worked on parallel lines. The universal Spirit was ever moving upon the hearts of men, suggesting, inspiring, renewing.

”I am hungry and in need,” said the preacher, ”and someone is moved to bring me help. Why did he think of me at all? Who put the impulse into his heart? Ordinarily, it may be, he is not a generous man; yet he trampled down his selfishness, and came to my succour when I needed it most.

”Was it a miracle? Not in the ordinary sense, and yet in truth it was a miracle. To me it was the interposition of G.o.d's Providence. G.o.d saw my need and sent His help.”

Rufus did not hear the end of the sermon. He was thinking of his own case. Help came to him when he needed it most. He had prayed for death, prayed that he might be saved from an act which was unworthy of any true man. And in the very nick of time salvation came. Was it a mere accident, a stroke of luck, a fortunate turn in the wheel of chance? Or was it Providence, an impulse or an inspiration from the all-pervading Spirit?

His faith was but a tender plant as yet, and it would need much watchfulness and care if it was to grow.

He was brought back from his reflections by the announcement of Cowper's well-known hymn:

G.o.d moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the sea And rides upon the storm.

Rufus stood up with the rest and tried to sing, but a lump rose in his throat constantly and threatened to choke him. It seemed as if every line met his case and expressed some experience of his own:

Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan His work in vain: G.o.d is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain.

The congregation sang on with deep feeling and emotion. Most of them had known trouble. Many had experienced the joy of deliverance. And the tune was one that seemed exactly to suit the words:

His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour.

The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.

How wonderfully true and apposite it all was! More than once he swept his hand across his eyes to remove the mist that had gathered. Surely G.o.d had led him to that little chapel that morning. He knelt with the rest when the benediction was p.r.o.nounced, and breathed an audible ”Amen”

at the close.