The preparatory service of that night is still spoken of in the quiet village. Perhaps the atmosphere was created by one who had prayed much that day that the congregation might receive a new vision of the Redeemer, through the words of one for whom not an individual in the entire congregation had any hope six weeks before.
The sermon over, the minister and elders extended the right hand of fellowship to the little company occupying the front seats. "To-night," said the minister, as he returned to the platform, "I have asked my friend Mr. John Gage to say a few words." The lecture-hall had probably never known stiller moments than those immediately following the announcement.
John Gage, pale and trembling, not daring to look at his audience, stood facing the platform. In a low voice he said, "Well, friends, I have been a bad man—that's no news to anybody, but God helping me I'm going to be better. Seems like a miracle, don't it, that John Gage has been sober for five weeks?"
As he sat down, the "Let us pray" of the minister preceded a petition for "our brother," that made most hearts tender and prayerful.
"It's a new day for St. Andrew's," said Murray Meiklejohn, as he shook the hand of the minister after the benediction. "Nothing like to-night's meeting in my memory. Looks as if we were going to stop singing 'Rescue the Perishing' and get on the job."
It is no easy task for the average Presbyterian elder to utter a fervent "God bless you," but that night hearts were stirred and tongues were loosened, and John Gage felt that after all the world was not so unfriendly as he had imagined. Hand after hand was extended in genuine welcome. But the finest thing of all, as the minister said a little later, was the way the Colonel warmed up to John. He had never been seen to manifest the same cordiality in the Church before. "A manly step to take, sir—a manly step—needs courage to fight that kind of a battle. Personally I am glad to welcome you to St. Andrew's."
When story-time came at the Manse on the following evening, Ruth was all attention as her mother told of the homecoming of another prodigal, and of all it might mean.
Ruth's prayer had two additional words that night. The closing part was uttered more deliberately than usual, as if in anticipation of the seriousness of the added petition. "Bless daddy and mamma, and—all—the—friends—I—love—and John, for Jesus' sake. Amen."
THE TEMPTATION
John Gage secured temporary work in the village delivering freight for a local carter. Whenever opportunity afforded, the habitués of the bar-rooms did not spare him their sneers and jeers. "Folks say you're a hell of a good preacher, John." "When are you going to wear the starched dog-collar, John?" Calling him to a little group on the sidewalk, one of his former chums said, with mock solemnity, "Let us pray." A roar of laughter followed, as John, crimson-faced, walked away.