The Children's Portion Part 9

"He is not ashamed of it."

"Not a bit ashamed."

"Whom do you belong to?"

"I belong to the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Are you glad or sorry?"

"I am glad--very glad."

"Who in the car knows that man belongs to the devil?"

"Everybody knows that, for he has not kept it a secret."

"Who in the car knows you belong to the Lord Jesus?"

"Why, no one knows it, for you see I am a stranger around here."

"Are you willing they should know whom you belong to?"

"Yes; I am willing."

"Very well, will you let them know it?"

I thought a moment and then said, "By the help of my Master I will."

Then straightening up and taking a good breath, I began singing in a voice that could be heard by all in the car:

There is a fountain filled with blood, Drawn from Immanuel's veins; And sinners plunged beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains.

Before I had finished the first verse and chorus, the pa.s.sengers had crowded down around me, and the blasphemer had turned round and looked at me with a face resembling a thunder cloud. As I finished the chorus, he said:

"What are you doing?"

"I am singing," I replied.

"Well," said he, "any fool can understand that."

"I am glad you understand it."

"What are you singing?"

"I am singing the religion of the Lord Jesus."

"Well, you quit."

"Quit what?"

"Quit singing your religion on the cars."

"I guess not," I replied, "I don't belong to the Quit family; my name is Mead. For the last half hour you have been standing by your master; now for the next half hour I am going to stand up for my Master."

"Who is my master?"

"The devil is your master--while Christ is mine. I am as proud of my Master as you are of yours. Now I am going to have my turn, if the pa.s.sengers don't object."

A chorus of voices cried out: "Sing on, stranger, we like that."

I sung on, and as the next verse was finished, the blasphemer turned his face away, and I saw nothing of him after that but the back of his head, and that was the handsomest part of him. He left the train soon after, and I am glad to say I've never seen him since. Song after song followed, and I soon had other voices to help me. When the song service ended, an old man came to me, put out his hand, and said, "Sir, I owe you thanks and a confession."

"Thanks for what?"

"Thanks for rebuking that blasphemer."

"Don't thank me for that, but give thanks to my Master. I try to stand up for Him wherever I am. What about the confession?"

"I am in my eighty-third year. I have been a preacher of the Gospel for over sixty years. When I heard that man swearing so, I wanted to rebuke him. I rose from my seat two or three times, to do so, but my courage failed. I have not much longer to live, but never again will I refuse to show my colors anywhere."

HER DANGER SIGNAL.

BY EMMA C. HEWITT.

She did--I am sorry to record it, but she did--Letty Bas...o...b.. salted her pie-crust with a great, big tear.

Not that she had none of the other salt, nor that she intended to do it, but, all of a sudden, a big tear, oh, as big as the end of your thumb, if you are a little, little girl, ran zigzag across her cheek down to her chin, and, before she could wipe it off, a sudden, sharp sob took her unawares and, plump, right into the pastry, went this big fat tear. Of course, if you are even a little girl you must know that it is as useless to hunt for tears in pie-crust as it is to "hunt for a needle in a hay-stack." So Letty did not even try to recover her lost property. But it had one good effect, it made her laugh, and, between you and me (I tell this to you as a secret), Letty, like every other girl, little or big, fat or thin, was much pleasanter to look upon when she smiled than when she cried. But she didn't smile for that. Oh, dear, no. She smiled because she couldn't help it. She was a good-natured, sweet-tempered little puss, most times, and possessed of a very sunny disposition. "Why did she salt her pie-crust with tears, then?" I hear you ask. Ah, "Why?" And wait till I tell you. The most curious part of it all was that it was a Thanksgiving crust. There, now. The worst is out. A common, every-day, week-a-day pie, or even a Sunday pie, would be bad enough, but a Thanksgiving pie of all things.

Why, everybody is happy at Thanksgiving.

Well, not quite everybody, it seems, because if that was so Letty wouldn't be crying.

Now let me tell you why poor Letty Bas...o...b.., with her sunny temper, cried on this day while she was making pies.

You see, she was only fifteen, and when one is fifteen, and there is fun going on that one can't be in, it is very trying, to say the least.

Not that tears help it the least in the world, no, indeed. In fact, tears at such times always make matters worse.

Well, she was only fifteen, as I was saying, and, instead of going with the family into town, she had to stay home and make pies.

Now the family were no relation to her. She was only Mrs. Mason's "help." Eighteen months ago Letty's mother (a widow) had died. Her brother had gone away off to a large city, and she had come to Mrs.

Mason's to live. Mrs. Mason was as kind as she could be to her, but you know one must feel "blue" at times when one has lost all but one relative in the world, and that one is a dear brother who is way, way off, even if one is surrounded by the kindest friends.

So now, tell me, don't you think Letty had something to shed tears about?

"I j-just c-can't help it. I'm not one bit 'thankful' this Thanksgiving, and I'm not going to pretend I am. So there. And here I am making nasty pies, when everybody else has gone to town having a good time. No, I'm not one bit thankful, so there, and I feel as if turkey and cranberries and pumpkin pie would choke me."

But after Letty "had her cry out" she felt better, and in a little while her nimble fingers had finished her work and she was ready for a little amus.e.m.e.nt. This amus.e.m.e.nt she concluded to find by taking a little walk to the end of the garden. The garden ended abruptly in a ravine, and it was a source of unfailing delight to go down there and, from a secure position, see the trains go thundering by.