“Well, now I am going to tell you something and I want you to believe it. Nobody on this earth can foretell the future. Nobody knows what is going to happen to-morrow, much less what is going to happen years away. It isn’t possible. God does not give any person that miraculous power. Our Lord Jesus Christ could perform miracles, but he was the only one who could do so. Do you think that God would give to all the thieving gypsies in the world the same divine power that he gave to his only Son, the Savior? No! Now, listen. There is not a word of truth in what that old gypsy woman said—not one word, Oliver. You can believe me, you can trust me. I am God’s minister, and I am telling you to pay no attention to anything Mr. Sikes and Mr. Link said to you to-night. If God would only allow me to do so, I would tell you that they are a pair of silly old fools—but that wouldn’t be kind, so I will not say it. You need not be afraid. All that talk about your being hung some day is poppycock—pure poppycock. Don’t you believe a word of it. I came upstairs with you just for the purpose of telling you this—not really to hear your prayers. Now don’t you feel better?”
“But you just said, Uncle Herbert, that nobody could see ahead. How do you know I won’t be—be hung?”
“I am not saying that, my lad. I am merely telling you that the gypsy woman did not have the power to see ahead. There is no such thing as true fortune-telling. She claimed to read the stars. Well, do you suppose that all those millions and millions of stars—any one of them much greater than the earth—are interested in little bits of things like you and me? No, siree, Oliver. They don’t even know we exist. That old gypsy was just lying. They all do. They take your money and then they go away and laugh at you for being such a goose. So you need not worry at all about what you were told to-night. And now I am going to say something to you that will surprise you. It is wrong for me, a minister of the gospel, to tell you this, but I love fighting Christians just as much as I love praying Christians. I do not mean that a man should go about looking for fights. That would be very, very wrong. Wouldn’t it?” He asked the question abruptly.
“Yes, sir,” said Oliver. “It would.”
“You must keep out of fights whenever you can, but if the time comes when you must fight—do it as well as you know how and pray about it afterwards. When your enemy smites you, turn the other cheek like a good Christian boy—but do not let him hit your other cheek if you can help it. Defend yourself. Put up your props, as your Uncle Joe says, and sail into him. You will thus be turning the other cheek, but it does not mean that he may smite it without resistance on your part. The Bible doesn’t seem to be very clear on that point, so I am taking the liberty of telling you just what I think ought to be done when an enemy besets you with his fists. You must not fight if you can help it, Oliver. A soft answer turneth away wrath. Sometimes. When I was your age, I had a good many fights—and you see what I am to-day. A minister of the gospel. If I had an enemy to-day and he was to set upon me, I should defend myself to the best of my strength and ability. Your Uncle Joe and your Uncle Silas are right, however, in counseling you to avoid conflict. No good ever comes of it. As you grow older you will acquire wisdom, and wisdom is a very great thing, Oliver. A wise man does not go about seeking for trouble. He tries to avoid it. And so will you when you are older. But just at present you are no wiser than other boys of your age. You were very foolish to fight with Sammy to-day because Jane egged you on. It is most commendable, of course, to protect a lady in distress. But Jane was not in distress. She did not need protection. Sometimes a woman—But never mind. You understand what I mean, don’t you, Oliver?”
“No, sir,” said the truthful Oliver.
“Well, what I want you to do, Oliver, is to go on leading a—er—regular boy’s life. Do the things that are right and square, be honest and fearless—and no harm will ever come to you. Now, turn over and go to sleep, there’s a good boy. I will put out the light for you. Don’t lie awake worrying about things—because there is nothing to worry about. Good night, Oliver. I have a very great affection for you, my lad, and, so long as God lets me live, I will always help you when—er—evil besets you. As it did to-night.”
He smiled dryly, perhaps a little guiltily, as he turned away and lowered the wick in the lamp that stood on the table near by.
“Don’t blow it out yet, please,” pleaded Oliver October. “I want to ast you a question.”
“Go ahead, my lad. What is it?” said the man, peering over the lamp chimney, at the boy huddled up in the bed.