December 1925
T H E K I N G ’ S B U S I N E S S
548
OS
F IN E GO LD OR T H E P E A R L OF G R E A T P R I C E JOSEPHINE HOPE WESTERVELT i|
1 T h e S to ry to D ate — The story sta rts w ith the friendship of B illie Bob and Bluebird, his little next-d oor neighbor, B illie B ob’s fa th er fe lt called to the m ission field, but his w ife would not go. He listened to her and became the pastor of a fashionable B rooklyn church. B ecause of his w ife’s extrav ag an t tastes, he lived fa r beyond his income, became discouraged, w ent out in a boat and was supposed to have been drowned. Mrs. Morehouse sold everyth in g she had to pay off debts, then w ent to live w ith her fath er. B illie Bob was allowed to run wild, got lost, and his m other became thoroughly frightened . B illie Bob was found later, but the mother became ill and died. B illie Bob was then adopted by his fa th e r’s old friend, Ja c k Harmon. They visited the boyhood home of B illie B ob’s fath er, where Mr. Harmon found a le tte r which showed th a t W ill Morehouse, B illie B ob’s fath er, was still alive. B illie Bob, who is now called W illiam Harmon, hears the call to m ission w ork and determ ines to go to South Am erica as soon as his education is completed. He fa lls in love w ith a worldly young woman, who seek s to turn him from his purpose; but he is saved by his Uncle Ja c k , who gives him his fa th e r’s letter to read, also another p ackage received from his fa th er a few w eeks previously, and -which contained a story which the fa th er had promised to w rite for B illie Bob. W illiam is now hard a t work in South Am erica w here he encounters many difficulties because of the stro n g opposition of the C atholic religion. He and his companion plan to buy land for a farm where they can work among th e Indians. In the m idst of th eir plans, W illiam is tak en sick w ith sm all-pox. He recovers, however, and the story this month ta k es up th e n arrativ e a t th is point. (Continued from last month) CHAPTER 13 ' A LETTER FROM HOME “I wish I could find some trace of him. I would give my life to find him and am trying to follow every clew I can. Wouldn’t it be glorious if .you were to be the one to find him? If you ever do, c^ble me at once and I will come. “By the way, I met Mr. Birdsey the other day in New York and he insisted on taking me home with him. T is it, Bill, what is the matter? You’re not :k, are you?” were Randall’s anxious questions. “I ’m all right, old chap, don’t worry; it is an lexpected letter from an old friend,” was the
“I think I was never more surprised in my life than I was in their home. Of course I did not know Louise personally but through you I felt I knew her well. I hadn’t realized how beautiful she was, and I fancy she is even more beauti ful now. She is vivacious and indeed charming, but is now one of the sweetest Christian characters I have ever met. She surprised me by asking if I would like to go to a little mission with her and her father that evening after dinner, and of course I accepted. There was a most earnest group of zealous people gathered there, and after a brief service, a small party, including Louise and myself, climbed aboard a Gospel wagon, and going to the crowded districts of the city we held a Gospel service in the open air. You told me that Louise could sing beautifully, but when she sang before that motley crowd on the street it sounded heavenly. It was an experience that took me back to my younger days. Later on the crowd grew rougher and some even threw missiles into the wagon, but we finished our service, the leader invit ing all who wished to hear more to come to the mission hall the next night. “Mr. Birdsey told me of the conversion of Louise and the change it made in the whole family. I am not going to tell it to you now for I am hoping that Louise will some day tell you all about it herself. I asked her to write you.” As William read the closing lines, a smile of sweet con tentment overspread his face, for now he felt he knew something of the contents of the other letter, which was in the well-known handwriting of his former fiancee. “Dear friend,” was the opening, but by some trick of his mind or fancy he wanted to read more between the lines than was indicated by the formal contents of the letter, writ ten in the well-loved handwriting. “I begged your address from your Uncle Jack, for I felt that I could no longer with, hold from you the apology so long due you. I most earn estly ask your forgiveness for my unkind words to you. 1 wish sb much, for your sake, that your father’s name had been cleared, but it seems to me I can never forgive myself for my fit of temper and the cruel things I said to you when (Continued on page 589)
reassuring answer as the blood surged back into the color less cheeks; for William was still not fully recovered from his illness. , Randall at once suspected the source of his unexpected letter, and sincerely hoped it contained good news, for the two friends were confidants as well as companions. William put the last letter aside and dutifully read the others first, for in some way he felt he could not read that letter yet. He was glad to get the different news stories as told by his various friends, all of whom showed their keen anxiety for the young missionaries, so far away and among such hostile surroundings. At last William opened Uncle Ja ck ’s letter. It caused a warm, affectionate glow to rise in his heart, for he dearly loved his foster father. “Dear William,” it began, “it has seemed so long since we have received a letter from you and you must know how keen is our anxiety regarding your welfare. I wish I had insisted on your sending a cablegram in case of your being ill or hurt in any way, and right here I want to tell you to let me know in that way if all is not well with you. Your old uncle would set out on the next boat if he were needed, you may be sure.” William could not but smile at the tender feeling in the letter, and it warmed him through and through, and for a time he forgot the other letter still to be read, as visions of his uncle’s thoughtful love and care rushed into his mind. “I made inquiries lately from the publisher whom we got to issue the little story your father wrote, and he tells me it is having a most gratifying sale. He told me there was quite a demand for it in some parts of South America and there had come a request to have it translated into Spanish. The publisher wanted to know if I approved. Of course I told him to go ahead. It has set me to thinking, William, and I have come to this conclusion; if your father still lives, and I believe he does, .he is in South America some place. But I have no idea where. Of course it seems to me logical that he should have chosen to go there because it was there he had hoped to go as a missionary.
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