"It seems strange," said Herbert, in the course of his talk with Mr. Earle, "that, if you had this in mind, you should never have spoken of it to me."
Mr. Earle smiled.
"I knew the matter was in safe hands. I might be mistaken, and I was sure that if the Lord really wanted you for this work, he would make it known to you in his own good time."
As I am writing of decisions, I will record one more. I have somewhere said that Nick Turner was an out-and-out loafer. He worked when obliged to, and the rest of the time, he smoked, drank, and gambled. His father was a well-to-do farmer, living half a mile from the village. Kindly old Mr. Turner and his sweet-faced wife were growing old and sad faster than their years warranted. Years do not bow one down to the earth like the carrying of a heavy heart; and what burden can weigh heavier upon a parent's heart than the living death of the first-born?
Nick's help upon the farm counted for very little; consequently his father was astonished at a remark he made one morning.
"Father, if Gibbs wants Jonas, you may as well let him go. I'll take his place for the summer. I would like to go West next year, if you will help me off; but for the present, you may depend upon me."
"Can I depend upon you?" asked the father gently, but meaningly.
"Yes, sir. I think so. You know that I am not just the boy I was a few weeks ago. At least I hope so."
"Yes; I know. I know, Nicholas, that you are not the same. Thank God for it. I only meant—Well, I am afraid you will get tired of work; and it will be bad for me to lose the chance of keeping a steady hand. But if you say you'll stick to it, I'll trust you. Thank God, I have my boy back again."
It was a simple affair that took Herbert Bradford out to the farmhouse one afternoon two months previous to this conversation. The apples from the Turner orchard were famous, and Mr. Bradford had sent Herbert out to engage a few bushels, to be brought in when convenient. Yes, they could spare a few, the old man said, and Nicholas might as well drive down then, and Herbert could ride with him. That was the young Christian's opportunity, and out of the few earnest words spoken during that drive grew the little talk that ended with, "Thank God, I have my boy back again!"