338
July 1929
T h e
K i n g ' s
B u s i n e s s
correctly. Now—does it matter very much whether you, or I, or anybody else has an angel, or whether there are any angels at all?” “There must be angels. Jesus said so.” “Yes! He said so because the men He was teaching were too ignorant to know better. He probably felt the time had not come to tell them the truth—” “But Jesus always told the truth. Uncle Alan said so.” “Yes! But if He had told these men that there were no angels— “But He said there were angels,” the severe little voice persisted. “He said there were whole lots of angels that He could have called to fight for Him. Don’t you remem ber—that time when Peter cut off the man’s ear ?” Dr. Dowling found it necessary to clear his throat again. “Perhaps we had better discuss—ah, heaven,” he remarked, running his finger around the edge of his collar. “Heaven’s full of angels,” replied the relentless one. “How do you know it is ?” “I learned it out of the Bible. It keeps telling about the angels of heaven.” “The Bible was written a long time ago, my child.” “Yes, but it’s going to last forever ’cause my memory verse last Sunday said, ‘For ever, 0 Lord, thy word is settled in heaz’en.’ ” Dr. Dowling looked at his watch. When in the world would Alan return and deliver him from this little witch of a girl? “You have a very good memory, my little friend,” he temporized. “I’m just at the mem’ry age, my Sunday-school teacher says. I know lots of verses,” proudly. “Tell me some,” resorting to desperate measures! If Alan would insist on bringing up these youngsters in the darkness of anthropomorphism, there was nothing he, John Dowling, could do about it. He meditated upon a sentence or two that he might possibly work into his vesper address about this foolish insistence upon the supernatural. In the meantime Little Sister was casting about in her mind for a verse. Presently out it came, like a little chime of silver bells: “ ‘Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom o f God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein! ” Dr. Dowling was quite unprepared for the effect of these familiar words upon himself. He felt that they fell from the lips of this little one with all the sound of an eternal knell—a doom that was pronounced possibly upon him, and a great loneliness that was to be throughout all eternity. What was this that suddenly clove asunder his whole being, showing him a terrible chasm of spiritual darkness within ? He thought for a moment in a. vague, chaotic way, of some.words read (and not pondered) about a Word that was quick and powerful and sharper than any two-edged sword, which pierced even to the di viding asunder of soul and spirit, and joints and marrow, and was a discerner of the thoughts and intents of his heart. He arose abruptly and walked to the window. He knew that this unexpected shock was greater than he could at present calculate. His sensations made him think of a ship that has suddenly run into an immovable and hitherto unnoticed rock. He was “split wide open,” as he afterwards expressed it, and through the cracks and opened seams of his unseaworthy self came pouring in floods of recollection. Hours with his godly father on
Sunday afternoons by a warm library fire when the rain and sleet were streaking down the northern window panes. Good-night talks with a mother who knew Someone whom he had been slighting. Dreams of service with which' he had entered a certain seminary, only to allow them to shrivel to nothingness before the sophistication of his pro fessors and classmates. A spasm of irritation shook him. Why had he come down on the invitation of his father’s old friend! He might have known what he would run in to! But ha rk ! The little monster over on the divan was speaking again. “You’re very p’lite but you don’t love Jesus very much or you’d believe what He says.” The young man turned quickly at this fresh wound. His fine face was working under the stress of his inner conflict. “Little Sister,” he said, his deep resonant voice quiver ing a little, “you’re—-you’re hurting me—more than you know—you’re hurting my heart!” Little Sister sat bolt upright at this. Hurting Uncle Alan’s friend! “Oh, I ’m azofly. sorry! I ’m so sorry if you’re h u r t! Maybe it’s your conscience that hurts and not your heart at all. Pauline says everyone’s conscience hurts if they make God sorry—ever since Adam. Sometimes I wonder if Adam isn’t sorry up in heaven when he sees all the trouble he got us into!” “Do you?” murmured this strange young man ab stractedly as he patted the feverish little hand where the poison oak was especially rampant. This did not interest him, evidently! Well, she would try again! “I heard Elise and Harold and Uncle praying about you,” she announced. Ah, this was effective! Instant attention, and the concentrated gaze of the deep-set eyes! “Praying for me?” he queried softly. New memories were evoked! How long since he had prayed for a fel low worker? How almost scornfully he had regarded some of Alan’s entreaties at the family altar. “Yes!” went on the little girl. “It was the blood of Christ—they asked Jesus to make you tell about it to the students at the university tonight.” Dr. Dowling sprang up with a suppressed exclamation. This was anguish, positive agony! His own university where he enjoyed the position of popular hero and repre sentative. of' all the ideals that modern educators held dear! “Little Sister! Little Sister, you’re pressing me hard!” But this was beneath his breath. She did. not hear it. Out upon the veranda now! The air was cool from the great water, and he must pace up and down a while. There was tumult within to be quieted. It was time now to consider! What was there that was wrong in the beau tiful address that he had built up for the students for this evening ? How he had anticipated with all his artistic, finely constituted nature, the joy of standing in that high pulpit, where he could see the sunset gleam through ruby and sapphire and amethyst panes upon, the young faces he so loved! Was there something wrong? Ah, yes! When conscience and heart were so stung, all was not right. He knew this well. He almost wished he did not, but his early training was too much for him. Perhaps his mother’s prayers had worked upon him, he reflected, in that subconscious self he had been studying with such eagerness of late. No time to consider that now! But what was wrong? “The blood of Christ” ! The phrase flashed across his mind. That was the trouble! He knew now. It was sud denly made clear. There was a lightning flash in a place
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