I hadn’t counted on staying this long. I guess maybe if the preacher hadn’t talked so much about help ing people in trouble there on the last afternoon of the meetings, I would never have come down to see Hiram. The way Hiram looked then seemed to bear out what some folks said about him not always having lived the way he should. A few in the church doubted if he really was saved, but when they went to talk to him they claimed that he knew his Bible. I was saved hack when I was eight and, God willing, I was going to be a missionary off in Africa or somewhere. I had looked on coming down through the brush to see Uncle Hiram that evening as a kind of missionary trip. “You’re a plucky fella to come here this way,” Hiram said. “I trust Jesus too — up to a point. At a certain point I can’t trust anything but myself. Certain things happen because you make them happen. And no matter how bad they are you can’t blame God.” Then he stopped, and though it was awful gray there in the cabin I know his face got white. I heard it then too. Away off down the hollow there was a sweet voice singing a hymn. It was awful pretty singing — lots nicer than anyone in our church can do when they solo sometimes at Sunday morning service. “I ’m p ressing on th e upw ard w ay — L o rd , p lan t m y fe e t on h ig h e r ground.” It sure wasn’t anything to be scared about, but for no reason at all, I began to get a little prickly feeling all over me. “He coming here?” I asked. Hiram nodded but wouldn’t say any more. His hands gripped the gun ’til it looked like the sharp finger bones would break through his skin like tearing paper. Seeing how terrible he looked made me feel more sorry for him than scared. I remembered then how Hiram had supported the mis sionary efforts of the church. Why, it had been Hiram himself who had suggested one Sunday that the church sponsor a Bible and tract crusade at the state penitentiary. The pen isn’t far from us — just over at Wallville — and we’re all c o n c e r n e d about it. Everybody thought it a good idea. We got a list
PRIZE W IN N E R
by June Ralston, 14, Camus Valley, Oregon
e n n y ’0
enny was watching her moth er fix the hamburgers for supper. “Mamma, where are we going for our vacation this summer?” “I ’m afraid we’ll have to stay home this summer. We can’t afford a vacation,” Mother said. “Oh, I wanted to go to a ranch where there are lots of horses and cattle. Anyway, I ’m going to pray and ask Jesus to let us have our vacation like always,” Penny said. “Maybe Jesus will say no, be cause He might want us to stay home,” Mother answered. “I know, but I can pray anyway,” Penny said, as she skipped out to play. Every night Penny asked Jesus of the prisoners and some of the older folks even wrote letters. I guess Hiram had written some him self. It seemed to go over real good and our preacher had told us only a few weeks ago that the warden had written him that some of the men had accepted Christ. That suggestion of Hiram’s to send reading material to the men in the penitentiary seemed to, more than anything else, make the peo ple believe in Hiram’s being saved. There were some who t h ou gh t though that he was only trying to buy his way into heaven. The night wind had finally made its mind to blow the way it does in the evening sometimes and for awhile I couldn’t hear the singing. Everything seemed to be moving outside as the wind raced down the hollow. Sometimes it blew into the cabin a little and I was getting gooseflesh and shivering. Then the wind quieted down a minute, as if it felt foolish blowing around that way and I heard the singing sweet and clear. “L o rd , lift m e up, an d let m e
to let her have a ranch vacation. Two weeks later just as Penny and her mother and father were sitting down to supper, a telegram came. Daddy opened it, read it and then looked at Penny and said, “Well, Penny, I guess this is for you.” “Oh, read it, read it!” Penny cried, jumping up and down on her chair. “It says, ‘Would be delighted to have Penny spend summer on our ranch. Love, Aunt Jane, Uncle Tom.’ ” “I knew Jesus would answer my prayer,” Penny said happily. “Yes, He always does whether He says yes, no or wait. Jesus always answers prayer,” Mother said. END. stand — L o rd , p lan t m y fe e t on h ig h er ground!” The song seemed to float through the woods something like a prayer. It was a sweet tenor voice like some of those radio singers you hear sometimes. But it seemed out of place out there in the windy woods and all the more creepy because I knew it really meant something horrible. At church that Sunday afternoon the preacher had given the final sermon of a week’s revival meet ings. We always have our revivals in August and often big evangelists come in and preach. But in that final sermon the preacher had asked everybody to come forward, saved and sinner alike, and give them selves afresh to the Lord. A lot did go forward, some of them just about to bawl. That’s the way it was with me. Anyway, I remember Hiram was sitting down close to the front and as I went by I saw a look on his face like he wanted to come forward terribly bad but couldn’t because something was holding him back. He had
Editor's note. All you boys and girls are invited to send in your stories, poems and drawings. Drawings may, be in black ink, water color, or crayon. Each prize winner will receive a dollar and his work printed in the Round-up. Send to Jr. K.B. Round-Up, The King's Business, 558 So. Hope St., Los Angeles 17, Calif.
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The King's Business/June 1957
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