the
story, and how she used to make him see the shepherds and hear the
sheep bleating near by, and how the sudden burst of glory used to make
his heart jump.
'I used to be a little afraid of the angels, because a boy told me they
were ghosts; but my mother told me better, and I didn't fear them any
more. And the Baby, the dear little Baby--we all love a baby.' There
was a quick, dry sob; it was from Nelson. 'I used to peek through under
to see the little one in the straw, and wonder what things swaddling
clothes were. Oh, it was all so real and so beautiful!' He paused, and I
could hear the men breathing.
'But one Christmas Eve,' he went on, in a lower, sweeter tone, 'there
was no one to tell me the story, and I grew to forget it, and went away
to college, and learned to think that it was only a child's tale and was
not for men. Then bad days came to me and worse, and I began to lose
my grip of myself, of life, of hope, of goodness, till one black
Christmas, in the slums of a faraway city, when I had given up all, and
the devil's arms were about me, I heard the story again. And as I
listened, with a bitter ache in my heart, for I had put it all behind me, I
suddenly found myself peeking under the shepherds' arms with a child's
wonder at the Baby in the straw. Then it came over me like great waves,
that His name was Jesus, because it was He that should save men from
their sins. Save! Save! The waves kept beating upon my ears, and
before I knew, I had called out, "Oh! can He save me?" It was in a little
mission meeting on one of the side streets, and they seemed to be used
to that sort of thing there, for no one was surprised; and a young fellow
leaned across the aisle to me and said, "Why! you just bet He can!" His
surprise that I should doubt, his bright face and confident tone, gave me
hope that perhaps it might be so. I held to that hope with all my soul,
and'--stretching up his arms, and with a quick glow in his face and a
little break in his voice, 'He hasn't failed me yet; not once, not once!'
He stopped quite short, and I felt a good deal like making a fool of
myself, for in those days I had not made up my mind about these things.
Graeme, poor old chap, was gazing at him with a sad yearning in his
dark eyes; big Sandy was sitting very stiff, and staring harder than ever
into the fire; Baptiste was trembling with excitement; Blaney was
openly wiping the tears away. But the face that held my eyes was that
of old man Nelson. It was white, fierce, hungry-looking, his sunken
eyes burning, his lips parted as if to cry.
The minister went on. 'I didn't mean to tell you this, men, it all came
over me with a rush; but it is true, every word, and not a word will I
take back. And, what's more, I can tell you this, what He did for me He
can do for any man, and it doesn't make any difference what's behind
him, and'--leaning slightly forward, and with a little thrill of pathos
vibrating in his voice--'O boys, why don't you give Him a chance at
you? Without Him you'll never be the men you want to be, and you'll
never get the better of that that's keeping some of you now from going
back home. You know you'll never go back till you're the men you
want to be.' Then, lifting up his face and throwing back his head, he
said, as if to himself, 'Jesus! He shall save His people from their sins,'
and then, 'Let us pray.'
Graeme leaned forward with his face in his hands; Baptiste and Blaney
dropped on their knees; Sandy, the Campbells, and some others, stood
up. Old man Nelson held his eyes steadily on the minister.
Only once before had I seen that look on a human face. A young fellow
had broken through the ice on the river at home, and as the black water
was dragging his fingers one by one from the slippery edges, there
came over his face that same look. I used to wake up for many a night
after in a sweat of horror, seeing the white face with its parting lips, and
its piteous, dumb appeal, and the black water slowly sucking it down.
Nelson's face brought it all back; but during the prayer
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