532
November 1929
T h e
K i n g ' s
B u s i n e s s
on the telescopic and microscopic aspects of God’s knowl edge of His creation. God’s knowledge of us surpassed— nay, went deeper than—our knowledge of ourselves, he told them. It took in the content of our subconscious selves, with all their marvelous interweavings of forgot ten past and inherited tendencies. Only such a God and Saviour could successfully create and manipulate such a universe—from far-flung-star systems to the electrons within the atom. It was after having this talk that Margaret decided to apply her newly gained knowledge to her own l i f e - something which the wisest men have sometimes failed to do, forgetting that the Lord said : “I f ye know these things happy are ye if ye do them.” Surely the God who saw the sparrow’s fall would help Douglas ! Margaret began to pray about her brother. And it was only after she had prayed, that she began to see that Douglas could be helped most by being induced to care for others less fortunate than himself; But what steps ought she to take to bring this about ? She turned from the window and called Aunt Margot on the tele phone. 1 It was Aunt Margot who formulated the plan. It was a wonderful plan ! It was to be a surprise to everyone in the family, excepting Margaret, if her mother would give her consent. Consent was given, not quite blindly, but altogether fondly, for this slim, dark-eyed girl had won the confidence of her own household. There was to be a surprise party on Thanksgiving Day, Douglas was told. It helped him some—it helped him more than a little, as hè lay in his chaise longue try ing to forget that his team were hard at it. Thanksgiving came, as it does in the Pacific South west, with unlimited sunshine. Douglas Snowdon looked out of his windows into bowers of roses, and later on, as he hobbled about the carefully kept lawns, he admitted to himself that in spite of his misfortune the lines had fallen to him in pleasant places. For the first time some thing of the spirit of the day came upon him. It was Thanks-giving day! Well, he was giving thanks! But to whom ? There his finely trained young mind came to an abrupt halt. He quickly decided he would pass that question now. On went the pleasant day and for the first time since his accident of last year a feeling akin to joy (or, was it peace?) seemed to be settling upon him. The shadows were still there but they were not as impenetrable as they had been yèsterday. Something bright and beautiful seemed to be in the offing. What was it ? His younger sis ter’s surprise party hardly entered the calculations of this young veteran of the modern arena. And yet it was this slender little person’s prayers and thought for him that were on the point of bringing him out of a very dark place. * * * $ * It was four o’clock in the afternoon. It was the hour of the surprise; Douglas was smiling amusedly at his sister’s state of excitement as he turned from his chif fonier. He had put on the necktie she had given him. No brother could do a greater thing for his sister than that ! A knock at the door, and there stood a young High lander in full Scotch regalia—kilts, plaid, sash and bon net ! It was Donald Donaldson of the Cameron Clan. “Hoot, mon! Those bare knees are not so cold out here as they would be amang the heather !” “Y’r Scotch is all wrong but y’r a fine lad, Douglas. Come on to dinner.”
The Voice of Thanksg iv ing B y F lorence N ye W h it well “That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works.”— Psalm 26:7.
ARGARET looked wistfully out of the win dow at her brother as he limped into the limousine where his mother sat waiting for him. It was a beautiful limousine. The chauffeur stood respectfully holding his young master’s crutch in one hand but he
made no effort to assist him, for Douglas had announced grimly that he would get about without -assistance; from any man—even if he was a “poor dumb cripple.” He had been like that ever since it happened. Was it only a year ago?; It seemed so long! “Doug is on the crimson eleven !” had been the joyful announcement one day in the early autumn of the preced ing year. And then, a month or two later, the alarming news : “Douglas Snowdon is seriously injured in football.” Pale faces all over the house—telephone bells ringing in library, halls and' bedrooms—telegrams flying between their home and the great Boston hospital, and father and mother both rushing east within twenty-four hours! That was what it had been like. • i Margaret herself had wandered through it all like an uneasy little ghost—her dark eyes looking larger and her pale moonbeam of a face paler, than ever. And when Doug came home she had disgraced herself by crying. Douglas had smiled and squeezed her hand and said: “You do the crying and I ’ll do the grinning, Snow White!” She was glad he had used his old-time name for his sister, but she had so| longed1to show herself “a per fect woman nobly planned, to counsel and comfort,” if not to command. “Now that I am a freshman at college perhaps I can help Doug,” was her first thought on entering the Uni versity. But how was one to help a huge brother whose hip joint was permanently awry? And then Margaret had met Donald Donaldson and his Aunt Margot from Scot land. “Does God hear every little prayer?” she asked Aunt Margot. “I should think big things—like running the stars on time, or regulating the milky way, or even helping this little earth in war time—would be about the only things to interest Him.” “My dear heart ! When His own blessed Son said, ‘Not a sparrow shall fall on the ground without your Father,’ and ‘The very hairs of your head are all num -. bered’! cried Aunt Margot, pink cheeks and bright eyes aglow, beneath her. white hair. This had been all new to Margaret and later they had taken her to hear a young senior whom they called “Bill the Brilliant,” whose faith and knowledge of why he believed had helped a great many to be strong. He spoke
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