The Comrade in White | Page 4

young man is."
There were tears in the women's eyes as the preacher called us to see the stricken and weeping king climbing with weary step to the chamber over the gate. And in a solemn hush we heard the cry of his anguish "--O my son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee. O Absalom, my son, my son!"
We had anxious fathers and mothers and wives and sisters in the Church that day, and it was as though our own sorrows were all gathered up into the old, unhappy, far-off things of which the preacher spoke. I had a dear one to be concerned for, but I was thinking now of some one else. For Widow McDonald was there, and the days had grown into weeks since last she had tidings of John--and he was her only boy.
Suddenly she rose and slipped out. I followed her, for there was an odd, silent friendship between us, and I thought that I might help. To my surprise she did not turn homewards, but down the Glen, and there I saw that some one was waiting for her by the pine wood. "I saw your sign, sir," she said, "and I guessed you brought news of John. Oh, sir, tell me quick, is he safe?"
"He is safe," the stranger answered. I could not see His face, but He seemed weary and far-travelled. It was His voice that made me wonder. For as He said "safe," it was as a new word to me, so full of healing and of peace that it laid to rest every fear of my unquiet heart.
"And will he be home soon?" It was the mother who was speaking now.
"I have taken the dear lad home," answered the stranger. "His room has been long prepared for him in my Father's house. He has fought a good fight. He was wounded, but his wounds are healed. He was weary, but he has found rest." And so speaking He looked at us, and as the mother clasped my hand I knew that the truth was breaking on her too.
"He is dead," she sobbed.
"No," said the stranger, "he is alive, for he has laid down his life that he might take it again."
There was silence then, and the stranger turned to leave us. Even in her grief the mourner was mindful of what was due to Him who had taken upon Himself the burden of sorrowful tidings.
"Come back with us, and break bread, and rest a while," she said, "for, sir, you seem spent, and it is out of a kind heart that you have spoken."
"I may not tarry," He made answer, "for there are many who need me, and I must go to them, but for thy comfort thou shalt first know who hath brought thee tidings of thy son's passage through death to life."
I dare not try to tell what happened then under the shadow of the pines, but somehow we knew our eyes looked into the face of the soldiers' _The Comrade in White_; and we knew Him. And then His hand was lifted in blessing, and we heard this word, that is now as the music of our daily lives: "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."
* * * * *
We walked in a strange, calm silence to the widow's cottage, and then as we parted she turned to me a face filled with heavenly peace--"My dear boy lives," she said.

III
MAIMED OR PERFECTED?
"Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous but grievous: nevertheless, afterward, it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby."
--HEBREWS xii:11.
"Six months passed within the danger zone, produces a subtle but marked change. Bright lads become men, who bear all the marks of having passed through a solemn purification by fire. And the subtle influence, as thus depicted, is communicated to us.... To say that the horrors of war have subdued and overawed them is but part of the explanation. It seems nearer to the truth to add, that these harrowing experiences, whatever they may have been, have only helped to make our young men susceptible to spiritual influences of the highest quality. In fine, they have been following in the footsteps of Him who is The Great Sacrifice, and even amid the bursting shells have caught a glimpse of wounds that transform and consecrate their own."
--The Great Sacrifices, JOHN ADAMS.

III
MAIMED OR PERFECTED?
My heart grew bitter in me when the news came of Harry's operation. I had been half relieved when I heard that he was wounded, and that the wound was not dangerous. For the grim alternative was