And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.”
But even though my arm muscles felt that strong, my knees felt sort of weak as I realized that a man’s life was depending on us.... We kept on rowing as hard and as fast as we could, grunting and sweating and hoping, and also doing what any boy with good sense, or even without it, would do at a time like that—we were praying as hard as anything, too. Anyway I was, and I was asking God to please help us get there quick—for when a boy is in the middle of such a dangerous excitement as I was in, he will ask God to help him even though he hasn’t been a very good boy and isn’t sure God will have anything to do with him. I tell you, all of a sudden, I was thinking of Little Tom and his swell mother and it just seemed like it would be terrible for them to lose their daddy, even if he was maybe the meanest man that ever lived at Sugar Creek.
Another reason I was praying with every grunt, was that I knew John Till wasn’t a Christian and if he didn’t become one before he died, he’d never get to go to heaven, on account of my parents had told me the Bible says that, “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Anybody who knows what Pop calls the “ABC’s of the Gospel,” knows that you can be born again just by letting the Saviour into your heart, but John Till had never done that.
I guess maybe I didn’t use any words with my prayer, though, but only some worried thoughts, which I sort of shot up to heaven as quick as I could like I shoot arrows with my bow when I’m back home around Sugar Creek. In fact, for a jiffy it seemed like I was sort of shooting prayer-arrows up to God, and that on the end of each one, instead of a little feather, I had written a note on a strip of paper, and on each note it said, “Please, God—Heavenly Father, Old John Till’s soul is lost, and if he drowns without being saved, it’ll be terrible. Help us get to him quick.”
Then Poetry interrupted my thoughts saying, “Stop a minute—LISTEN!”
I let my oar rest a fourth of a jiffy and right away the waves made our boat swerve a little, like it would swing around if we didn’t keep on rowing, but I heard a voice not more than fifty feet farther on, and looking quick, I saw something dark in the water, struggling, and the voice with a desperate gasp, said, “Hurry—I—HELP....” Then it stopped.
I tell you we hurried and I kept on sending up arrows—grunting and pulling and wishing. Then without knowing I was going to say it, I said, “O please don’t let him drown. ’Cause Poetry and I have got a secret about one of Your Bible verses, that says if two of us agree on something we ask for, You will answer us.”
It just seemed like maybe John Till had to be saved, on account of it seemed like that promise in the Bible was especially about him. Then without knowing I was going to say it aloud, I said, “And here comes another arrow with the same thing written on it,” and Poetry beside me said, “What arrow? What are you talking about?”
I explained it to him, while we rowed harder, and even though he didn’t say much, I knew he was doing the same thing I was—like my parents had taught me to, when I was little, and which I still liked to do, even though my folks sometimes might wonder if I ever did or not, on account of I was sometimes too mischievous. Also sometimes I wasn’t always what they called a “good boy,” which is an expression they use when they mean I ought to behave myself.