Part 24 (1/2)

The young traveler's eyes opened in amazement. ”Why no! How could that be? My teacher was like Him,” he explained simply.

Again the quick look pa.s.sed about the circle. At last one spoke, slowly: ”There is a man here in the village who was also blessed with the children.”

The young traveler started up joyously. ”Take me to him,” he entreated. ”Let me talk with him; that is what I have come here seeking--another teacher.”

”Nay, friend--” began one; but another hurriedly whispered: ”Let us not tell him. Perhaps he can help.” And so the first speaker finished: ”I fear you will not find him like your teacher, but you shall go; it is only a step.”

And they guided him, all but impatient, to a mean hovel just within the town. There they left him.

It was a man with a dark, bitter face that answered his knock. ”May I speak with Nemuel?” the stranger asked courteously.

”I am Nemuel,” growled the man curtly.

”But I mean Nemuel who was one of the children that Jesus blessed,”

persisted the young traveler, his face softly alight as the name pa.s.sed his lips.

”Come in; I am the man.” He straightened proudly. ”I was a child seven years old when I saw Him----”

He stopped, for the young stranger, pale and gasping, broke in: ”You saw Him! He touched you! You have seen His face, and yet your own--forgive me, friend. But my master was also one of the children blessed by the Christ, and he was ... different.” He hesitated, still looking at the somber face in puzzled distress.

The man caught the young stranger's arm. ”You knew another of those He blessed? Tell me, did he have great wealth, palaces, honors? Did he wait long? Did the blessing tarry so long in the fulfilment as with me?”

The young stranger shook his head in deep bewilderment. ”I do not understand. No, he had no wealth, no palaces, no honors. He followed the Christ. He was blessed by His spirit. Why, how could one want goods and honors when one had seen His wonderful smile, when His arms--” He broke off, gazing at his host in appalled incomprehension.

Nemuel's dark face grew darker, more bitter. ”Then there _is_ no blessing, after all,” he said slowly. ”I have waited, believing, trusting. I have kept my life clean. I have kept myself holy--away from those He had not touched--” The stranger drew a quick breath and his eyes softened with pity. ”I have never forgotten that I was blessed above others. And now there _is_ no blessing.” And he covered his face with his hands.

There was a silence and then the young stranger spoke very gently: ”The blessing my master taught me, was for all children--for all childlike faith and trust and purity. It was a sanctification of the child spirit.”

Nemuel had lifted his head and was listening, his eyes fastened wonderingly on the stranger's face.

”And it was not a blessing to be wrapped up in a napkin. It was not one to bring you good fortune, as if it had been a sorcerer's charm.

It was a blessing for you to take and to make--to use it--to give it to others. Through you He blessed _all_ children.... And yet--” the stranger's voice deepened--”yet there _was_ something special too.”

”What was it?” Nemuel breathed.

The stranger bent on him a gaze full of yearning. ”Have you not remembered His face?” he asked. ”His wonderful look--just for you?”

There was a pleading note of reproach in his voice as he leaned toward Nemuel, but his face was all love and tenderness.

Nemuel began to shake his head slowly, still fixing the stranger with his gaze.

”No,” he confessed. ”I haven't been able to remember--not for years.

At first I did. Afterward I _knew_ His face was wonderful, but I could not _see_ it. But now--now I begin to remember----”

The young stranger waited for the halting words, his face lighting softly with a holy hope and joy.

”Why, your face--” Nemuel still hesitated, groping, and then suddenly his voice rang out in triumph, and memory dawned clearly in his eyes--”why, _your face_--is--like--_His_! Oh, I do remember!--and--I begin to understand.”

Kitchener's Mob