333
September 1943
“I never did it before. I just sort of gabbled to them this afternoon and they happened to 1i s t e n,” Bill ex plained lamely. “That’s just the p o in t s they lis tened!” cried the girl eagerly. “They won’t listen to everyone. I’d give any thing if I had your gift.” “Me, a gift?” Bill’s eyes were round. “Lady, I’m the one chap in this town that has no gift.” “How can you say that,” she re proved softly, “when M a r v i n and Scuppy, reputedly the w o r s t small hoys in the neighborhood, sat en tranced at your feet every moment you were speaking?” “Oh, come, now!” protested Bill feebly. But the girl wasn’t listening. “Will you do this? Will you come back here and tell a story every Sunday afternoon, if I’ll get the chil dren here? I’ll guarantee The girl looked down at Bill. “ I have a wonderful idea,” she said meekly, “ even if I am just an ‘ole girl.’ How would you all like to come over to my house—that white one across the street—and sit on the ve randa while this gentleman tells you about Daniel, and then we’ll have some lemonade and cookies?” Under cover of the hilarity evoked by this suggestion, the gjrl added in a rapid aside to Bill, ‘‘Do come! I want to talk over an idea I ha\fe for a Bible story hour.” Bill neither consented to nor re jected this suggestion. He was simply swept across the street and up the steps of the white house, in the “lem onade rush.” Their hostess saw that they-were established comfortably on the porch, and then vanished indoors (it was hoped to prepare the. refresh ments), and Bill seized this oppor tunity to relate the- grand old story of Daniel and the lions who lost their appetite. “Boy, oh boy!” breathed Marvin, when the story was finished. “He was a regular fella. N o b o d y was gonna make Daniel stop praying!” “That old Darius was as bad as Hit ler, I betcha,” commented Scuppy. “And here we are, living in a coun try where we can pray whenever we feel like it,” Bill slid in quickly, “ and we forget, or don’t care, to thank God or tell Jesus how much we love Him.” Gazing on their sober, almost stricken faces, Bill was touched at the thought of the plasticity of childhood. Is it not Barrie who says, “The gates of heaven are so easily found when ■we are little, and they are always standing open to let children wander in” ? Barrie had dying in mind when he wrote those lines, but it seemed to Bill they applied to living. Such a little push would sen-d children into the kingdom when they were small. If they didn’t get that push, how stubbornly hard they were to win for Christ in later life! Even what he, Bill McKee, had said to these four youngsters this afternoon had put its stamp upon them. The thought caught at his heart. During these reflections the girl ap peared, bearing a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of ginger cookies. She made the rounds, amid frank cheers from her guests. Last of all, she filled Bill’s glass and sat down beside him. “ Forgive my kidnaping you like this,” she begged, “but when I heard you talking to the boys, I just couldn’t let you slip. live been wanting to reach the children in this neighbor hood, with the gospel, but I didn’t know how to begin. I can’t tell stories as you can.” leads. Hello, there,” to a newcomer who suddenly appeared from around the corner. * “That’s Eddie, Sit down, Eddie,” ordered Jack curtly. “Go on, Mister.” “Where was I?” asked Bill, making room for Eddie on the curb. “Oh yes, I was just going to tell you the story of the young fellow—but that’s a long story. I doubt if you’ll have time to stay and listen.” y “Aw, it’s Sunday afternoon.” Eddie drummed against the curb with his heels. “We haven’t got anything else to do. Sundays are dead.” Bill’s feelings were not hurt. “You all think you’ll stay then? . . . Well, this young fellow started off on a fishing trip one day, with his fish pole over one shoulder and his lunch in his knapsack. His mother had fixed him five sandwiches and a cou ple of sardines', so he could stay at the lake all day. When he got out on the highway he saw a big crowd hiking down the road. He thought there must be a fire someplace, so he followed along. Soon, trudging along in the dusty road, he heard a couple of men just behind him talking about a Man who had been in the next town and had h e a l e d their blind cousin Sam so he could see perfectly well, and they said this Man was on up the road a ways. They were dead set on having a look at Him, and this boy decided he wanted to see the Man himself, so he trailed r i g h t along. They came to a big hill—” Bill finished the story unhurriedly, for his audience, though small, was attentive. . “I’ll bet that’s out of the Bible,” Jack accused him when he concluded. “I don’t care, it’s a good one, just the same. Do you know the one about Daniel in the den of lions, Mister?” “One of my favorites,” Bill said promptly. There was a movement behind them and Bill, turning his head, discovered a very p r e t t y girl regarding the group with interest. Bill crimsoned. “How— how long have you been standing there?” he stammered. The girl had very blue- eyes. They were sparkling, and her cheeks were pink. “I came in—oh, with Cousin Sam,” she admitted with a reluctant chuckle. “You couldn’t expect me to leave be fore the story was finished, could you?” she appealed to the four small boys. “This is strictly a youth movement,” mumbled Bill. “Please go away!” “Go on about the lions, Mister,” ordered Scuppy. “She’s just an ^ole girl; don’t pay any ’tention to her.” 9 “ So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God” (Rom. 1 0 :1 7 ). Q
Made with FlippingBook - Online magazine maker