“And I have not been giving you a lesson of trust and cheerful obedience, I am afraid. Yes, this has been a sad, silent day, Davie, lad. But the worst is over. I trust the worst is over now.”
David answered nothing to this, but came closer, and leaned over the arm of the sofa on which his father lay, and by and by his father said:
“My boy, it is a grand thing to be a soldier of Jesus Christ, willing and obedient. And whether it is marching or fighting, or only waiting, our Commander cannot make a mistake. It ought to content us to know that, Davie, lad.”
“Yes, papa,” said David.
“Yes,” added his father, in a little. “It is a wonderful thing to belong to the great army of the Lord. There is nothing else worth a thought in comparison with that. It is to fight for Right against Wrong, for Christ and the souls of men, against the Devil—with the world for a battle ground, with weapons ‘mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds’—under a Leader Divine, invincible, and with victory sure. What is there beyond this? What is there besides?”
He was silent, but David said nothing, and in a little while he went on again:
“But we are poor creatures, Davie, for all that. We grow weary with our marching; turned aside from our chosen paths, we stumble and are dismayed, as though defeat had overtaken us; we sit athirst beside our broken cisterns, and sicken in prisons of our own making, believing ourselves forgotten. And all the time, our Leader, looking on, has patience with us—loves us even, holds us up, and leads us safe through all, and gives us the victory at the end. ‘Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory!’” said Mr Inglis, and in a minute he repeated the words again.
Then he lay still for a long time, so long that it grew dark, except for the light of the new moon, and David, kneeling at the head of the sofa, never moved, thinking that his father slumbered now, or had forgotten him. But by and by he spoke again:
“When I was young, just beginning the conflict, I remember saying to myself, if God will give me twenty years in which to fight His battles, I will be content. The twenty years are almost over now. Ah! how little I have gained for Him from the enemy! Yet I may have to lay down my armour now, just as you are ready to put it on, Davie, my son.”
“Papa! I am not worthy—” said David, with a sob.