Pardon those erring prayers—Father, hear these!”
“I was feeling just in the mood that the first verse expresses, Tom, but the second verse sent me out. Can we do too much for Him who said, ‘the fields are white unto the harvest,’ and who told us through his blessed apostle John, ‘Let him that heareth say, Come’?”
Tom drank in every word of this letter as one who was athirst, and he had just put it away the morning after its reception, after a third reading, and was bending over his writing, when Mr. Sutherland came in and sat down to read the newspaper. Tom’s pen moved more slowly. He glanced frequently from his task to Mr. Sutherland, and once or twice held his pen above the paper, watching him as though he wished to speak, and finally, when Mr. Sutherland laid down his reading, Tom lifted his head and spoke—very faintly, indeed, at first:
“Mr. Sutherland, I wanted to ask a favor of you.”
“Well, Tom, be in a hurry; I must get over to the other plantation.”
This was not very cheering, but after the first effort he gained fresh courage:
“I have long been wishing to start a Sunday-school among the people, Mr. Sutherland. Have you any objection to my undertaking it?”
“Isn’t one school enough for you, Tom?” asked Mr. Sutherland, a little gruffly.
“No, sir,” he replied, with a little smile—“not while I can do more good.”
“There is no place to hold a Sunday-school,” objected the master.