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TH E K I N G ’ S B U S I N E S S
Victory Island
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By MEREDITH CARR
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S UDDENLY the plane shuddered, turping crazily, as a shell burst under one wing, and the explo e m e r g e n c y alarm bell sounded. George, the navigator, l o o k e d at Chris sharply; they both began to climb into their chutes. Minutes of waiting for the order to abandon ship seemed like hours. Chris finally broke the silence to speak in'the interphone to the pilot. Mildly alarmed when there was no reply, he opened the cockpit hatch door and stuck his head through. He was sick with anger, when he saw the pilot and the co-pilot slumped over the c o n t r o l s , while orahge flames licked through the shattered glass of the cockpit. Even before he touched them, he knew they were dead. George needed only a nod from Chris to send him slipping through the escape hatch. Then Chris spoke into the interphone to the gunners. There was no reply from any of them. Either they had seen the dan ger and had jumped—or else they were dead. It was not until he had hit the water and was free from his chute that Chris began to wonder how fdr he could swim. There oughf to be an island somewhere around here. They looked thick enough from the air when you were trying to find your target. The sun had gone, and the world of white-tipped w a v e s was dropping into darkness. He became conscious of burns on his body, as quick pain followed every time his arms cut the water. Slowly he swam, guarding against any feeling of hurry, to conserve his strength. To his fogged mind, it did not matter greatly whether the island, if he ever reached it, was held by friend or foe. He must be delirious, he thought; for he saw, or imagined that he saw, Marion’s face hovering on top of each wave, smiling encouragement:— her face as he had seen it in his dreams many times. But no, Marion had broken their engagement. It would mean l i t t l e to her if he reached safety, or if he slipped be neath the waves. Once he started to pray, but stop ped quickly.
were several persons around him. Their silence was ominous. “Well, they "know hy now where i am,” Chris thought wearily. “Who are you?” he called. “Who you?” came back, and Chris could not tell whether it came from Japanese lips or island natives. They would know, who he was when they saw his uniform, so there was no point in evasion. “American,” he .answered. There was a n ' excited murmur of voices. He felt a log pushed toward him, and with his last conscious thought he knew he had grasped it. Chris awoke to the gray-green fo liage of latticed leaves of palms above him and the sound of the sea, like a dull memory in his mind. A gentle swaying motion vaguely troubled him as he tried to realize where he was. Then he saw that he was being car ried by his stalwart captors, on what w a s evidently a n a t i v e - m a d e -stretcher. Where were they taking him—to* a Japanese garrison, or to their own haunts? They were entering a village. The murmur of sound rose to an excited clamor of voices as copper-colored men pressed close to the stretcher. Chris struggled to get up, and had just achieved a sitting position whin one of the men approached him, smiling broadly. “They can’t be too hostile,” Chris -thought with quick relief. Then his breath caught in his throat as he saw that the tall young native held in his hand the little prown Testament with his oWn' name stamped on it in gold. Marion had sent it to him, and he had carried it partly 'because it was her gift to him. The young native halted in front of Chris, held up the Testament, and smiling h a p p i l y , said: “You Jesus follower. I also Jesus follower. I,” he added proudly, “I P r e s b y t e r i a n - elder.” Chris repressed a laugh and start ed to -shake- his head in denial of his own faith. But he stopped even be fore he had time for c o n s c i o u s thought. How could he explain to this man of such limited English, that he was not a follower of Christ? He smiled back an acknowledgment, feeling himself a hypocrite as lie did so.
“No, God,” he said aloud. "I had no use for You when I could take care of myself, and I won’t call on You now,” Marion had broken with him be cause he was not à Christian. He would not come wh i . n i n g to God now, when he was in trouble. Per haps he had brought it on himself.
sion drummed upon the hull. The
AN EASTER STORY
He remembered vaguely that he had been irritated at the change in Marion’s letters after her “conver sion” that she had written him about. She seemed to have a certain sad ness and concern over his faith— and that had angered him. And of all things, Marion said she wanted to be a missionary, when she had prepared and it was possible to go. Because he couldn’t see it, she had broken the engagement. “ Can two walk together except they be agreed?” she had written af ter receiving the letter in which he had vented some of his resentment. He had felt a little guilty over the pathos he could discern as he ftad read that last letter of hers, when he was miles away at a bomber base. “It was her doing,” he thought now, his irritation giving him a brief renewed energy to fight the greedy waves that threatened to engulf him. But the strength was short-lived. He was. on the point of slipping away when something brought him back, quickly alert. The waves were not high as they had been, and there Was somebody near him. He felt an other presence. “George!” he called. Perhaps the impossible had happened, and he and the navigator had fallen close to gether. There was no answer, but there was some one there—in fact, there
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