THE K I N G ’ S BUS I NESS
90 John laughed outright. “I reckon Sarah, his mother, has sent up more prayers for him than the good Lord’ll I have time to sort out an’ classify an’ answer for another ten years . . . Were t h e r e some groceries y o u wanted?” Alf laid a slip of paper on t h e counter, and John quickly filled the order. He was totaling the bill when the telephone rang. , “For you, Alf,” he said a' moment later. “Your wife. She wants y o u back to the station right away. Sounds important.” A lt turned to go. “He r e , take your groceries. I’ll charge your bill.” In a few minutes, John locked up for the noon hour and sauntered down the street. “No mail,” the girl at the’ post of fice told him. “The truck isn’t in yet. Muddy roads, I guess. It’s been quite a while since you heard from Johnny, hasn’t it?” “Two weeks,” John said, as he left the post office. * He tried to be casual about those two weeks, for there had been delays that long before. * • * “No mail from Johnny?” his wife asked, when he entered the house. “Mail truck ain’t in yet.” “I’m troubled.” “Now don’t you go frettin’, Sarah. ■Johnny’s all right.” *T know his body’s in danger, John. I—I’m thinking about his soul.” Photo by Kirkpatrick
read between the lines of her boy’s letters. John is burdened about h is soul. An’ he .needs encouragement an’ prayers—your prayers. You know he does.” Sarah cried. It wasn’t often that she shed tears in John’s présence, but she couldn’t help herself today. John, deciding to go back-to th e store early, ate his meal in a hurry. When he was ready to leave, a frenzied rapping sounded on the front door and Alf Barkley came bursting in. “À telegram for you!” he shouted. “Oh, the Lord be your comfort! I was afraid I wouldn’t %have the Strength to deliver it!” He handed the envelope to Sarah and left. Sarah stood trembling, and received it. “O-open it,” John stammered. Tearing at the envelope, S a r a h saW the words, “The War Department regrets to inform you that Private John A. Crawford was killed in the service of his country.” John read the telegram. “Sarah! There’s a mistake! There’s got to be! I thought you was prayin’ for him! Why did he get killed then? Killed! . . , Johnny!” The neighbors came to offer their sympathy. The minister came, too. He laid a strong hand on John’s quaking shoul der, looked squarely into his eyes, and said, “This . is a sinful world, John. The outlook cannot help but be dark to those who do not h a v e Christ.” “It ain’t right,” .John declared. “You folks had Johnny’s name on t h e church list, didn’t you?” “We prayed for him constantly, along with the other boys,” the min ister replied. “We prayed that each young man would find Christ as his own personal Saviour out there. And then we prayed that God would have His will in each life.” “You prayed he’d be safe, didn’t you? But he ain’t. He’s dead! My boy! Yoùr prayers didn’t get answered!” “You need the Lord, John. Earthly condolence can’t . . . ” “The Lord?” John sneered. “What’d He do for Johnny—let him die, that’s what! Sarah prayed all the time for Johnny. What did .it get her? That telegram!” He waved his h a n d angrily. '“Don’t talk about the I%rd to me!” • * * That evening when they were alone Sarah said, “If only we had hope . . . ” “Hope? He’s dead! There ain’t no doubt about that!” “I mean hope about his salvation.” John was silent. ■ Saturday came. Sunday came. Peo ple arrived and departed, scarcely no ticed by John and Sarah in their sor row.
1 John seldom argued with his wife on any subject. She usually wouldn’t commit herself until she was sure what was right. Then in a qujet, kind way, she held to her convictions. He never had been able to debate spiritual things with her; not that he admitted she was right, but because there ex isted no possibility of convincing her that she was wrong.; At times in the past he even had feared she might be able to convert Johnny. But he had succeeded in keeping his o n l y child from making a fool of himself, as he expressed it, at the, rousing re vival meetings held biannually in the church. He took pride in this accom plishment. “I’ve had a strange feeling,” Sarah said. “Now don’t talk that ag’in, just be cause we ain’t heard for a while. Like as not he’s bein’ moved. Sunday’s Easter. You an’ me’ll go to the county seat tomorrow night an’ get you all decked out in new spring feathers. How does that sound to you?” “Are you closing the store all after noon?” “Nope,” J o h n evaded. “Yes, sir, Sarah, we’ll go to the . . . " “But it’s Good Friday.” “Let’s not discuss that ag’in t h i s year.” “But I thought—with Johnny out at the front—I thought maybe, John, you’d soften to the Lord, an’ . . . ” “Now listen, Sarah!’,’ “You know I’m right. A mother can
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