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“W ill,” I said to the brother two years older than I, “do you think our shots would reach that far?” My brother was not sure. But soon a neat row of cracked glass panes, ex tending from one end of the building to the ojjher, settled the' question. When the owners of the factory and the police began to investigate, we were nowhere to be found. But Mother must have known. And we also came to realize all too keenly that the choice of those gifts was unfortunate. Some time later, when Father pro posed buying a parlor organ for the use of my sisters who were fine musi cians, Mother encouraged him, even though the financial outlay was con siderable. Perhaps she saw, far down the years, that this very •instrument would have a part in bringing him to Christ as Saviour, that as the girls would play and sing the old hymns that were his favorites, the Spirit’ of God would touch the taut strings of his own heart, and bring forth a mel ody “ to the praise of the glory of his grace.” Mother was wise with a wisdom that cometh from above. (To be continued) [ Continued from Page 12] the Hunan Bible Institute admirably trained for the work they undertake. Mr. Cory, a graduate of Biola, spent seven years in China under the China Inland Mission. He is now taking ad vanced work in the Seminary at Biola, which will especially prepare him for teaching God’s Word at Changsha. Mrs. Cory is a graduate of Wheaton College and has had considerable teaching experience. Mr. Davis, who will join the Hunan Institute staff as Business Manager and Treasurer, was in China for seven years under the Christian Mission in Many Lands. At present he is the chief auditor in a large and successful business firm in Los Angeles. Mrs. Davis, a graduate of Biola and a former student at Wheaton College, is the daughter of missionary parents who served the Lord in China, and- was herself a missionary under the C.M.M.L. for two terms. The prayers of KING’S BUSINESS readers will be appreciated for these young people, that the Lord w ill open the way for their return to China. The Superintendent of the Hunan Bible Institute, Charles A. Roberts, for the past six months since his return from China, has been doing deputa- .tional work in and around Los An geles. He also expects to return to Hunan in the fall of 1944, D. V. Until then he w ill be open for engagements, and w ill be happy to be in touch with friends of China up and down the west BIOLA-IN-CHINA NEWS
THE BREWER’S BOY f Continued from Page 4]
“ ls any thing too hard for the LORD?” (Gen. 18:14)
lock the door. None of us knew ex actly what went oh there—and; most times we were uninterested. My young est s i s t e r asked her once, “Mother, what do you do up there in your room every morning?” - My'Mother knew the value of curi osity and suspense. “ Some day—I’ll tell you,” she said. It was not until we were all grown men and women that she confided the secret: Every day of her life, there were morpents set aside for prayer for her family alone. I believe that in. those quiet sessions behind the locked door, God did two things: He spoke to my mother’s loving heart, making up to her abundantly for every longing for .fellowship she may have experi enced. And, true to His Word, He be gan while she was yet speaking to answer those prayers for the salvation of every one of her family, My mother never took an Advanced course in psychology, but if she had, I am sure her grades would have been high. She could read us children like a book. This keen perception, coupled with her unyielding discipline, inten sified the p o w e r that she exerted over us. There was a small separate building at the back of the house that was used as a laundry. When I was about four teen, an older brother and I decided we should find out how it felt to smoke Father’s pipe. We crept into the wash house and each took long, fragrant puffs. Just then Mother called for din ner. ■ Surprised and guilty, I whispered, “Do you think we’ll get caught?” Then, in a flash of inspiration, added: “ I’ll smell your b r e a t h and you smell mine.” My mother’s voice at the door an nounced firmly, “And you’ll come here to me and I’ll smell both of them." We knew the action would not stop with that, for my mother believed the teaching: “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Her sons were always having argu ments and fights and bloody noses, and the accepted slogan was, “May the best man win.” But Mother ruled that from certain rough games the girls were to be barred. We understood these restrictions clearly. One day, in the loft above the wash house where we played, the Talbot circus was in progress. It was time for one of the girls to jump through the so-called ring of fire, a dangerous stunt as we planned it. At this crucial, moment, I slipped into the house and found Mother sit ting in one of the front rooms, quietly rocking in a low chair and doing a bit of handwork. Without a word, I pro-
deeded to close the door nearest the back yard. Before it was drawn shut, she called to me. “Why are you c l o s i n g the door, Louis?” she asked. “Why, Mother”—I made up a plau sible speech on the spot. “The sun is shining in on you. I thought you might get too warm.” “ As a matter of fact,” she replied evenly, “ I think I am. I’ll just go out into the yard—maybe up to the loft— and cool off a little.” She understood my father with the same acuteness that she understood us children. He loved us with an ex travagant affection that would deluge us with playthings of every kind. She did not chide him for this, even though the choices were-not always wise. She had other ways of dealing. When we were quite small, we want ed marbles, and Father brought us dozens of them of every size and de scription. W’e spread them over the house in gleeful abandon. The noise of our games was deafening. It was not safe to walk anywhere; there were marbles on every floor. My mother col lected these, a few at a time. By Saturday afternoon, when my father was at home from work, she had the whole number, and graciously pre sented them to us to play with. “What’s all this noise?” my father shouted.. “ Only the children, playing with their marbles.” I was just a little fellow, unable to talk plainly, but I recall the scene. Father gathered up the marbles, swept out of the house with them, and flung them away. To me this was amazing. I stood looking blankly at the floor. “ Dad brang ’em home,” I observed, “ and Dad flang ’em out!” The subject was closed in our house hold after that. Mother must have dealt with my father privately about the matter of the pea rifles. Two of us boys had begged for these rifles, and had re ceived them. Late one night, when the house and the neighborhood were si lent, we were fingering our treasures in our room. Less than a block away was a large boot factory undergoing modernization, with many new win dows recently installed.
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