Chapter XVII: Another Prodigal Son

WHEN the children, in spite of the excitement of the day, had at last fallen asleep—all except Reuben, who had his lessons to prepare for the next day—Mark Dayál proposed to his wife that they should go and sit on the roof, where they could talk together without disturbing anyone, or being overheard, and Mary was only too glad to comply.

The first question to be settled was, which was to be the first to relate the story of the past year.

The wife insisted that Mark must have his turn first, because, she said, "You can see that we are all quite well and have not suffered, but when I look at you, I know that you must have gone through much trouble and distress, and I long to hear all about it."

Mark could not deny his wife's words, and consented to tell his story first, which shall be related as he told it.

"I expect you soon guessed why it was that I went away—that once more I had lost my employment and felt ashamed to come home and confess it.

"I was angry with my master, and spoke rudely to him, so he dismissed me at once, saying that he already had had no intention of keeping me.

"I felt still more angry then, and I thought, What would be the use of going home to be scolded by you and hear the children crying for food? You had had trouble enough with me, now I would see how you would get on without me. So I determined to go away. I had no intention of staying away so long, or of sending no news. I thought I should soon find work elsewhere, and then I would send you word where I was and what I was doing.

"But the time never seemed to come when I could give a good report of myself. If I found work, I lost it again sooner than ever. I just lived from hand to mouth, and every day my condition seemed to get worse.

"I could not write and tell you this, so I thought I had better not write at all. Then I began to think it would be better if I never wrote. It was much better that you should have no husband than a bad one, and that the children should have no father than such a one as I was.

"I knew that you had good friends in Harnáth Singh and his brother, and that they would never let you starve; indeed, they would find it far easier to help you when I was out of the way.

"So the time passed on, and more and more I became weary of my life and weary of myself. I did not always stay at the same place; again and again I persuaded some kind person to pay my fare to another town, on the plea that if I could only get there, I was sure of obtaining work. But it was not often that my hopes were realised.

"In this way month after month passed by, till at last I felt as I think one must do who has fallen into some deep pit.

"I was sinking, sinking lower and lower; below me was ever dense darkness and above me appeared no gleam of light.

"I little thought that my very depth of need was to bring me deliverance.

"During all those days of want and misery, I had very seldom been inside a church.

"At first, I did not care whether I went or not, for I had hard thoughts against God, and considered that He had favoured me less than others, and less than I deserved.

"Later on, if I had wanted to go, I should have felt ashamed. My clothes were so old and ragged, and, as you know, I had always liked to 'look' tidy and respectable, whatever I might be.

"That particular Sunday I was going to tell you about, I felt more than usually wretched and miserable. I was really ill, although I did not know it, and if I was ill in body, I was still more so in mind.

"Then I heard the church bells begin to ring, and suddenly it came into my mind, 'I will go into the church to-day.' I know now that it was God who sent that thought to me.

"I never considered how I looked, I had got past caring about that; besides, no one would know me. So I started in the direction the sound of the bells seemed to come from, for this was a strange place to me, and I had never seen the church. When I tried to walk, I found how weak I was, but though I had to stop and rest every now and then, still I kept on—something seemed to say that I 'must' get to that church.

"At last I arrived, but the service had begun, so I just slipped into a seat at the back, where I thought no one would see me. At first I was too tired to take much notice of anything, and though someone was kind enough to offer me a prayer-book, I felt too weak to stand up and join in the service. Suddenly I found my attention drawn to what was going on; before that I had only been thinking about myself and my own misery.

"A young man from the congregation was reading the Second Lesson, and as he read, I could not help listening, every word sounded so real. It was not that he was reading any thing new and strange; it was only the story of the Prodigal Son, of which I had learnt every word by heart when I was a boy at school.

"But somehow as I listened that Sunday morning, it seemed as if I was hearing my own story, as if I was that very prodigal son myself.

"I could just see that poor fellow in his rags and hunger, having come to the end of everything, and he was a perfect picture of myself. As I heard the words, 'Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight,' I just caught another sight of myself which I had never seen before. I was no longer the poor, unfortunate, ill-used man, to be pitied and helped, but I was a guilty sinner before God, bearing a name which I had no right to, and bringing dishonour on Him whom it ought to have been my greatest delight to honour and obey.

"My life, so full of sin and failure, passed before me, and in my shame and sorrow of heart, I forgot to think of my physical weakness and misery. Surely it was God who drew me to that church that Sunday morning and then met me there.

"It would have been well for me if I had said then and there, 'I will arise and go to my Father'; but though I heard the words, I did not make them my own. Surely I was the son in the far-off country, but I had no strength to turn my steps towards the Father's house.

"I don't remember anything of the rest of the service; I had heard my message, and nothing else mattered to me.

"The closing hymn had been sung, the last prayer read; then the congregation began to disperse, but still I sat on. I seemed to have no strength left to get up and go away.

"By-and-by, someone came and touched my arm and said, 'Brother, I fear you are ill. Can I do anything to help you?'

"I lifted my head and saw that it was the young man who had read the Second Lesson, which had so much impressed me, who was standing by my side.

"'Yes, I am ill,' I answered with some difficulty; and then I could say no more, I was too faint and dizzy.

"I hardly know what happened next; I heard voices which seemed to me far away in the distance, then I felt a strong arm put round me, and I was led out of the church. After that came a perfect blank, of which I can tell nothing.

"One day I came back to life and found myself lying on a bed in a strange house. At first I thought I was quite alone. But after a while, I heard a sound as of someone moving about, and presently a man came in sight.

"I was still more puzzled, for I knew I had never seen him before, and had no idea as to who he was. He did not notice that I was watching him till he came to my side with a cup of soup, then he looked very pleased and surprised.

"I drank the soup without a word, for I felt too weak to talk, though I longed to ask where I was and what had happened.

"Then I fell asleep, and was awaked by the sound of voices. And when I opened my eyes, I saw standing by my bedside, not only the man who had given me the soup, but also the young man who had read the lesson in church.

"I soon found that he must be a doctor, for he felt my pulse and asked many questions about me. He evidently thought me much better and seemed very pleased. Then, turning to the other man, he said, 'You will be willing for him to go to the hospital now? He is so much better that it will be quite easy.'

"'Why should he go to the hospital,' was the answer, 'now that he is getting well? In a few days, there will be nothing wrong with him.'

"'You are an obstinate man, Sath Guru Dàs,' said the young doctor, 'and evidently determined to have your own way, so I suppose I must let you keep your patient. You have done a good deal towards saving his life, so it is only right you should.'

"I said nothing, but I wondered more than ever what it could all mean.

"When the doctor had left, I called the other man, whose name I found was Sath Guru Dàs, to my side and asked him to tell me what it all meant, and how I came to be there.

"Then he said, 'When you came into church last Sunday, I saw you, and I thought to myself, "That is some brother in trouble." I watched you all through the service, and felt sure that you must be very ill and weak. When the congregation left and you still sat on in your place, I asked the young doctor who was here just now to come and speak to you. He said you were very ill, and as my house was close by, we brought you here, and here you have stayed.'

"'Why did you not take me to the hospital?' I asked.

"After a pause my new friend answered, 'That I can hardly tell myself, only I think the Lord must have put it into my heart to bring you here and care for you myself. Perhaps some day we may understand why it was.'

"Then I said, 'If you had known what a worthless fellow I am, you would never have taken me in.'

"There was a tone of rebuke in his voice as he said, 'Brother, you are worth so much that the dear Lord came down from heaven and gave His life on the cross for you; that which cost Him so much can never be worthless to His followers.'"

SUNDAY LESSONS.

IT is peaceful Sunday morning, | 'Tis the story of the shepherd,
Stillness in the air, | Who his lambs doth guide,
Only all the birds are making | In the pastures green and happy
Music everywhere. | By the waterside.
|
In the nursery too are voices, | Gladys is the little teacher,
Earnest, low and sweet, | Bob the scholar small,
As the children to each other | And the Shepherd is the Saviour,
Holy words repeat. | Who has loved us all.

HIRA'S QUEST.