To this letter Arthur made answer:—
"DEAR TEACHER:— . . . I do not dare to call myself a disciple, though I think I do love the Saviour. But I wander so often and so far. It seems that I have no strength to resist temptation, and yet if it were not for Christ's love drawing me back, I must have gone to ruin long ago. I wish I could cut loose from my sins, but it does seem sometimes as though Satan was determined to have possession. I have no time to grow in grace, for I am continually wandering and then repenting. I should like to make a public profession of my love for Jesus, but I dare not, I should so soon dishonour the name. I am not worthy to take the Christian name. I belong to a Bible class here, but it is not like the dear little class in Westville. I miss the Saturday evening talks.
"Do you think that Christ will accept me? Dare I come to his Supper? I should like to come home in the spring, and join the church with the rest, if I was only fit. I know you pray for all of us boys. I wish we were all following. Will you pray especially for me, that I may be strengthened to resist temptation?
"Your loving pupil,
"ARTHUR KNAPP."
A long letter was written in response to this, but I will quote only a sentence or two:—
"My dear boy, the only fitness required for the step you desire to take is a humble, childlike trust in Christ. If you feel your own weakness, remember in Him is strength; if you realise that you are sinful, remember that it was to save a lost and sinful race that He came; if you feel that you really love the Saviour, and that He is your only hope, you need not fear to come."
With great hesitation, with many doubts and fears, Arthur came. Mabel rejoiced, though her joy was dimmed by the thought of the two who would not come, and she prayed as she had often before—
"My whole dear class for Jesus!
Oh, let not one be lost."
Tom and Herbert had many long talks during the visit of the former. Very soon after his conversion, Tom had asked, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?" And the answer had come to him as it comes to all who ask in sincerity. By his providence and by his spirit God had said, "Go, proclaim the gospel of my Son, Jesus Christ."
In the experience of the last few months, and, indeed, in his whole Christian life, Herbert began now to see a hand pointing him to the same course; and his talks with Tom, their comparison of experience and feelings, had strengthened his growing conviction that his early choice of a life-work had been a mistake.
Tom had gone. Mr. Bradford and Herbert were busy at the office, Herbert writing in the private office, his father talking with clients in the outer room. Presently a low, soft voice attracted the attention of the copyist.
"I am looking for work," said the lady to whom the voice belonged, and whom Mr. Bradford recognised as the daughter of a once wealthy, but lately insolvent manufacturer. "My penmanship has always been considered as something remarkable for an unprofessional; and my choice of work would be something which would call this one talent into use. I have called to ask you if you do not need a copyist."