“No, Mom, but I was scared to death,” said the little fellow as his mother held him close. And because there were tears in her eyes, he cried a little too, even though he was such a big boy. Mom would never fell the other kids he cried. “ I was scared . . . but I prayed . . . and you came, Mom!” he said. At the dinner table that night Jonathan was a hero. He told the whole story over again, not leaving out the two prayers he had prayed and the answers the Lord had sent. Mark, his older brother, said thoughtfully: “We’ve all been taught about prayer since we were little kids, but sometimes we forget v?e can go to God under all circum stances.” “ Yes,” said big sister Linda. “ I remember that wonderful verse in Luke: ‘Men ought always to pray and not to faint.’ ” “ I didn’t faint!” said Jonathan. “ You sure didn’t, Pal,” said broth er Bruce, “We’re all proud of you,” and he reached over to ruffle his lit tle brother’s hair. “Well, what I want to know,” said practical sister Jill, “ is he going to get a reward?” Their father laughed. “ Of course not! You don’t get rewards for just doing your duty. All the same I’m mighty thankful it turned out this way.” Just then the telephone rang and everyone jumped to answer. “ Sit still, all of you,” said their father, “ I’ll take it this time,” They were all as quiet as mice, listening to his responses on the phone. “ Oh, you got all of them — the whole gang — good! You think it can be broken up and those boys helped some way — that’s fine! I wouldn’t want this as a daily occur rence around here. You think it’s safe for him to walk to school as usual? They threatened him on the way home tonight. My wife had gone to pick him up and just missed him at school but she caught up with them. I’m glad it’s over!” The children were all wide-eyed as their father returned to the table. “ They got ’em!” they shouted in chorus. “ Now how do you feel, Jonathan Edgar Hoover, Jr.?” asked Mark. That night as Jonathan’s mother and the beloved “ Grammy” of the household stood beside the bed of the sleeping Jonathan, his mother‘ said, “ It's really been Jonathan’s big day, hasn’t it? I hope I won’t have to go through another like that very soon.” “ Oh, I don’t know,” said Grammy, “ there’s always p r ay e r . P r a y e r changed things today and it can change things again!”
tion and Jonathan was telling the story to a man who wrote it down. Two of the pictures the police showed him looked like the two fel lows who drove off in Mr. Nelson’s car. “ Thanks a lot to both of you, and now we’ll drop you off at school, Jonathan,” said one of the officers. They went into the school with Jona than’s mother to explain his tardi ness to the principal and Jonathan headed for the playground where the boys and girls were having recess. What a great moment that was for Jonathan when they crowded around him to ask him why he came to school in a police car! The rest of the day it was hard to keep his mind on his lessons and as soon as school was out, Jonathan grabbed his cap, jacket and lunch pail and started for home as fast as he could, taking all the shortcuts he knew. He didn’t even stop at Billy’s house to find out how his pal was. Hurrying along, he didn’t see the two black- jacketed fellows who grabbed him by the arms, one on either side. He recognized them as the ones who helped the other two steal the car. Holding him tight, they talked in heavy, gruff voices. “ Listen, kid, you didn’t see nothin’ ” , one boy said, while the other pulled out a switch blade knife and held it close to Jona than’s throat. “We don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but you’d better not go to the cops or your folks . . . under stand?” he said. Jonathan’s knees were shaking again. He knew all about that dread ful weapon because his brothers had told him. A shudder went through him as they half-dragged him along the street, not very far from his house. But right in the midst of the terror a wonderful peace came to his young heart. Prayer, of course! Hadn’t it worked this morning when the police came? One of the fellows pinched his arm. “ What are you mumbling, kid? Can’t you speak?” The other boy laughed. “ He’s scared to death. He knows what we’ll do if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut. Don’t you?” Jonathan nodded his head. Then there came to his ears the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, his mother’s voice crying, “ Jonathan! Jonathan!” as she drove up alongside in their gray station wagon. The fellows dropped his arms and ran. Jonathan ran to the car, “ Chase them, Mom! Chase them!” he cried excitedly. “No, Jonathan,” said his mother, “ The police are on every corner. They’ll get them. They know what they look like. I just want to get you home. Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
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NOVEMBER, 1964
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