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T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
July. 1937
Two Ways To Fish
By HELEN FRAZEE-BOWER
Publishers* Photo Service. N. V.
F or a long time Danny lay on the rug before the fire, watching the flames dart in and out among the logs and make queer patterns of light and shadow on the wall. He had always liked to watch the pictures in the fire, but tonight his thoughts were on something else besides the fire, and his gaze looked beyond it. He was thinking of Father and wishing that he might have gone with him on the fish ing barge. That would have been such fun! Not for a long time had he wanted anything so much. Presently he looked up. “I don’t see why I couldn’t have gone, Mother. Do you see?” Mother smiled. “I think I do, Son. You’re pretty small to be a fisherman, you know. You would just have been in Father’s way.” “That’s what you think. But I think a boy could be a real help. I could have baited the hooks. Maybe I might even have caught a fish. Some boys do. Mother, I would so love to catch a fish.” The little boy’s eyes lighted with the wonder of adventure. “And I should love to have you catch one. But there will be years in which to do that when you are older, Danny. In the meantime Father deserves a little time away from all of us once in a while. He works pretty hard for this family, you know.” “I know, Mother. I guess I’m mean to feel bad about it. just the same, I think Peter went fishing with faT father when he was a little boy. Say, I wonder if he did, Mother—I wonder just what he did do,
when he was a little boy. Wouldn’t it be fun to know?” “Yes, it would, Danny, but I am afraid we shall have to leave that up to our imaginations pretty much. The Bible doesn’t say anything about it, you know. But, if you like, I shall tell you what I think he might have done, Danny.” “Oh, yes, Mother, do tell me.” “May I listen, too?” asked Sister. “Yes, if you like. This is really a story for boys, of course, but a little, girl might enjoy it, too. Now you must remember that it is only a story; but sometimes, when I am thinking of Peter, the man, I like to believe that it might have happened. “Long ago,” Mother began, “the child Peter lay on the sand looking off at the blue waves of Galilee. They had never looked more blue nor sparkling than they did this morning. The sun had never danced between the ripples more enticingly, and the wind had , never made merrier whitecaps. But Peter’s heart was not sparkling like the sunshine nor merry like the whitecaps. Peter’s heart was heavy. Not even the blue, blue waters of Galilee could take the grayness out of Peter’s heart this morning. For Peter had a ‘sorry’ on—a most dread ful ‘sorry.’ Far down the beach he saw his father mending nets, and, beside him, brother Andrew skipped stones on the water. Another day Peter might have skipped stones with him, but not today. Today all that Peter could do was think, and think, and think. And the more he thought, the deeper his shame grew.
“He remembered the look on his mother’s face when his father had found the hidden fish this morning. She hadn’t said a word —just looked at Peter, and then walked away. But all morning Peter had remem bered. He wished now that he had not offered last night to take the fish to the house of Bartholomew. He wished now that he had confessed, with Andrew, that he was afraid of the dark. Much better to have owned up to his cowardice than to have endured 'those terrible first moments on the dark beach. Much better never to have boasted than to have ended in de ceiving his mother by hiding the fish and creeping home to bed unnoticed. What made him so ready to boast, he wondered. This morning it all seemed very wrong and unnecessary. This morning he couldn’t remember any excuse for his pride. This Th e Jun ior morning all that he could remember was the look on his mother’s face. And he buried his face in the hot sand and wept. * * * * “Another day the child Peter lay on the Galilean shore. This morning he was not thinking about the blue water either. This morning his thoughts were traveling far across the waves and out into the world
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