February, 1933
58
T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
She went quietly in to where Mignon lay asleep among her flowers. “ I never thought— I cou ld!” she exclaimed, holding in her fingers the little cigarette case whose smooth coolness was so familiar. “ But— a little child shall lead them—and l am going to face it out with the Lord— like you, Mignon.” The shining case slid down among Mignon’s flowers, down out of sight beneath the laurel. Then Maria slipped quietly away from the hill house, glad that Mignon’s heart was now at rest, and the tired lamb in the fold. Late Bronze Age, 1600 to 1200 B .C .; a considerable amount o f the Early Iron Periods, I, II, and III, 1200 to 300 B .C .; and a large amount o f Byzantine and later pot tery. So far as the pottery is concerned, as it is reflected in a superficial study o f the place without any excavation, this might be the location o f ancient Beeroth. W e also found about the sides o f the hill three springs, one of which is still in use, and which supplies a consider able quantity of water for the countryside. The two other springs have been greatly neglected, and are barely run ning. It is quite probable that, by proper attention, these two springs would supply much more water. It is also possible that there have come about some changes in the water courses which might have affected the springs. But from present indications, the water supply of this site would have been adequate for a fair-sized town. This article is not intended as an announcement of a dis covery, but as an illustration qf how such discoveries may be made. Some other possible sites must be examined and eliminated, and some work;of excavation will have to be made, before any definite conclusion can be drawn. It is only fair to say, however, that our party was greatly grati fied at the results of the search, and that each member o f the group returned with an appreciation of the fact that we had examined a location which may prove to be the site of our lost Beeroth. Crumbs from the King’s Table [Continued from page 43] purified if a revival is to come. Fires must be kindled in the hearts o f those who profess to stand for Jesus Christ, to refine them as gold and silver, “ and they shall offer unto Jehovah offerings in righteousness. Then shall the offering of Judah and Jerusalem be pleasant unto Jehovah, as in the days o f old, and as in ancient years. V . . Return unto me, and I will return unto you, saith Jehovah of hosts” (Mai. 3 :4 ,7 ). “ But ye say, Wherein shall we return? Will a man rob God ? Yet ye rob me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings. Ye ar'e cursed with the curse; for ye rob me, even this whole nation. Bring ye the whole tithe into the store-house, that there may be food in my house, and prove me now herewith, said Jehovah of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Mai. 3 :8-10). A very practical word indeed for this modern a ge ! Upon stewardship and a recognition o f its claims on the people depends the outpouring o f the Spirit of God in re vival. Communism and all forms o f atheistic socialism could not be planted in this nation if the children of God would accept their responsibility as stewards o f God. A cleansed ministry and a faithful return to the prin ciples of stewardship in the life of the church will call down the revival fires that must be kindled upon the church in America, or the end has com e! Lost City Hunting [ Continued, from page 48]
“ Don’t come. No use. My heart is broken. Returning soon. “ Maria.” Mignon had decided to face it through with Christ. Perhaps that was why He opened the door in heaven and allowed her to escape. Her lessons must have been learned. School time was over. And out o f school it was, for Mig non— out and into the flowery meadows' of heaven ! “ Just because the people who talk as if they knew Him torment me about being homely— ” and here Mignon rue fully inspected her lean little countenance, “ just for that shall I take back my promise to Him ?” She put another stick on the fire. It was growing colder. “ All that matters is the Lord ! And H e is for me. Paul talked about peril from false brethren. And there was Alexander the coppersmith, who did him much evil, may God reward him !” And Mignon’s thought strayed to va rious callow youths and men who had waxed jocose at her expense. “ And only a cad discusses a woman in any but a cour teous and chivalrous way. Daddy said so !” she had cried out indignantly, with only the little house to hear. “ This is my verse,” she went on talking to herself softly as the wind began a low moaning outside, and twi light fell. “ ‘W e are troubled on every side, yet not dis tressed ; . . . Persecuted, but not forsaken ; . . . Always bearing about in the body the dying o f the Lord Jesus.’ Dear Lord, I thank Thee that Lean bear about Thy pre cious death in me. Perhaps I was vain, Lord, and this was the only way. Dear Lord, I ’m going right on with Thee, for Thou art my Shepherd, and Thou hast never forsaken those that put their trust in Thee.” For a few moments there was silence in the little house, while the fire burned with soft sympathy, as fires have a way of doing. And then Mignon looked out and saw the snow [ She forgot the weariness at her heart, which had tired her so much o f late, and kneeling by the window, she wrote her solitary effort in free verse. It was suggested by the question, “ Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow ?” -• It was Mignon’s swan song. She felt wearier after writing it. Back by the fire, she began to think o f Enoch who walked with God, and was not, for God took him. The evangelist had suggested, that one day when they were walking, God had said to Enoch, “.You are so much nearer My house than yours, Enoch ; you’d better come along home with Me.” “ And I wish, dear Lord, I could be like Enoch.” - It was the last prayer o f Mignon’s tired heart, and God heard, as He always does. “ An’ it isn’t that I’m not glad an’ thankful that the poor lamb is safe-folded,” sobbed Mrs. Hernan to Maria. J-It’s just like when a sweet thrush was singing on my bush, and after it was kilt the yard seemed lonely.” ' Maria went in and looked long at the pure, pale face of Mignon, lovingly pillowed on Mrs. Hernan’s laurel. Yes, a song had been silenced. But a mighty eternal music was now begun for her little friend. It was far better for Mignon. “ And so I told those three women, her aunts,” she weptj later on, to Uncle Alan and a tender Constance. But Maria did not tell even Uncle Alan about her own farewell to Mignon. She had hastened up before the aunts arrived and hastily adjusted the possessions o f the little poetess that they might find none o f the disorder so grievous to them. And as she sadly folded up ribbons and closed a chaotic suit case, she found Mignon’s last poem and her resolve to face it out with Christ tho'ugh all the world— even those who named His name— deserted her.
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