“ That is the only place I could get through,” she explained earnestly. “Nisi!” the father glowered from the doorway, halfway between outraged au thority and real relief. The atmosphere was redolent of the putrid filth he had ex cluded beyond the high walls of the gar den. His nose twitched disdainfully at' the unspeakable stench in the beautifully furnished room. Then he grabbed a cane and beat the child for the defilement of her person, for the pollution of his house, and most of all, for defiance of him and his gods. Leaving her bruised and sob bing, he commanded, “ Promise me you will not do this again!” “ Father,” she sobbed, “ if you only knew Jesus, you’d love Him, too!” Day after day the incident was re peated. The gates were locked early and the only means of escape was the break at the bottom of the wall through the sewer canal. Nisi’s vain ablutions in the fountain could not make her presentable to the family, so she crept supperless to bed each night only to be routed out and whipped. “ Why do you do it?” her father asked wearily, getting no satis faction out of beating his child. “ Because I have learned that ‘God so loved the world, that he gave his only- begotten Son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have ev e r lasting life’,” she replied. The next day she gave him another verse, the reassur ing promise of John 1:12: “ But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.” Each time she was punished, she repeated a pas sage of the Word of God. The great annual Korean celebration was due. The entire house was cleaned and redecorated, and a great deal of cooking was done. All of the idols were cleaned and polished, and servants placed dishes of their best food before each one of them. Then, in their very best clothes, the family sat down to par take of the great feast. Even little Nisi was bathed, perfumed and dressed in her loveliest robe. The Great Man sat at the head of the table alone. He was served first; then the other members of the family were to have their turn. The food was handed to Nisi’s mother, who offered it to her.hus- band, setting it in front of him. But ap parently he didn’t see it. Therefore it was her duty to push the dishes a little nearer, and to remind him gently, “ Your rice, Father. Your favorite dish, Father. Eat now, as all the gods have been served, and this same food has been of fered them in sacrifice. Take, eat, Great Man.” To the amazement of everyone pres ent, Nisi’s father pushed the food away. He rose to his feet, and declared in a tone full of decision: “ The idols we have been worshiping are not gods. I com mand that they be taken down and de stroyed ! From now on my family and I will worship Nisi’s God—the only true and living God and His Son, Jesus Christ!”
NISI FINDS A WAY
A True Story by Mrs. Floyd Hamilton as Told to Frances T. Browning
W HERE is Nisi?” Everyone in the house wanted to know, even the Great Man, Nisi’s father. She had been playing in the yard in the early after noon, but had not been seen since. They searched the grounds frantically, but could find no traces of the little girl. The large yard was lovely with trees, flowers, and grass, and in the center the graceful waterfall of a fountain fell into a small pond serene with water lilies, spanned across one end by a toy rustic bridge. Tiny goldfish flashed in the water, and blue dragonflies shimmered in the sunshine. But Nisi wasn’t playing in her favorite place. The- gates of the high-walled court yard were carefully locked at sunset by a trusted servant. Just as he was shut ting the last gate, he saw Nisi running toward it and welcomed her gladly. There was spontaneous rejoicing because she was safe. The Great Man unbent to embrace his little daughter; her mother kissed her. “Where have you been?” they questioned her with concern. “ I went with my playmate to the White Man’s Mission,” she explained. Suddenly there was a change. Happiness changed to coldness. Frowning, the Great Man commanded angrily, “ This must not happen again! The white man’s gods are not our gods—they are devils—no child of mine is to learn their awful religion. Do you understand, Daughter? Let me never hear of your going to the Mission again — never — NEVER — do you hear me?” His voice had risen steadily so that he fairly thundered the question. The little girl trembled. Swallowing hard, she replied submissively, “ Yes, Father.” Nisi only meant that she heard him; she did not intend to stay away from the Mission where she was wishing she was that very minute. Her father didn’t know how wonderful the white man’s God was, the only real, true God who had made the earth and sea and people, and who loved men and women, boys and girls, enough to send his Son, Jesus, to die for them. She knew her father would not let her tell him so she kept still. The next evening Nisi was gone again. The Great Man ordered the gates shut a few minutes before sunset in case she disobeyed him about attending the Mis
sion. He was fearful of what might happen to her outside of the safe walls of his home and thoroughly angry at her defiance.' Supper was served in silence and very little was eaten. As the Great Man sat grimly saying nothing, his wife also maintained a stoic calm. The usual social amenities were
The Great .Man commanded angrily, “Let me never hear of your going to the Mission again!” dispensed with and the dishes removed. Again the mother searched through the house on the desperate chance that those dreadful gates had not shut out her dar ling, after all. Forlornly, she looked into the little girl’s room. “ Nisi! Are you really in bed or is this your spirit?” she cried fearfully. “ Don’t be afraid, Mother. This is Ni si,” the child sighed as she was gathered up in a quick hug. “ My child! How awful you smell!” her mother recoiled in horror. “ I can’t help it, Mother. Someone locked all the gates and the only way I could get in was to crawl under the wall. I tried to wash the dirt off in the fountain.” “ Not through the sewage ditch! My poor, frightened child!”
JUNIOR KINGS BUSINESS
Martha S. Hooker
T H E K I N G ’ S B U S I N E S S
Page Fourteen
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