‘Look at Sandy! Did you ever see such a graven image? Something has hit him hard.’
The men were held fast by the story. The voice of the reader, low, earnest, and thrilling with the tender pathos of the tale, carried the words to our hearts, while a glance, a gesture, a movement of the body gave us the vision of it all as he was seeing it.
Then, in simplest of words, he told us what the story meant, holding us the while with eyes, and voice, and gesture. He compelled us scorn the gay, heartless selfishness of the young fool setting forth so jauntily from the broken home; he moved our pity and our sympathy for the young profligate, who, broken and deserted, had still pluck enough to determine to work his way back, and who, in utter desperation, at last gave it up; and then he showed us the homecoming—the ragged, heart-sick tramp, with hesitating steps, stumbling along the dusty road, and then the rush of the old father, his garments fluttering, and his voice heard in broken cries. I see and hear it all now, whenever the words are read.
He announced the hymn, ‘Just as I am,’ read the first verse, and then went on: ‘There you are, men, every man of you, somewhere on the road. Some of you are too lazy’—here Graeme nudged me—‘and some of you haven’t got enough yet of the far country to come back. May there be a chance for you when you want to come! Men, you all want to go back home, and when you go you’ll want to put on your soft clothes, and you won’t go till you can go in good style; but where did the prodigal get his good clothes?’ Quick came the answer in Baptiste’s shrill voice—
‘From de old fadder!’
No one was surprised, and the minister went on—
‘Yes! and that’s where we must get the good, clean heart, the good, clean, brave heart, from our Father. Don’t wait, but, just as you are, come. Sing.’
They sang, not loud, as they would ‘Stand Up,’ or even ‘The Sweet By and By,’ but in voices subdued, holding down the power in them.
After the singing, Craig stood a moment gazing down at the men, and then said quietly—
‘Any man want to come? You all might come. We all must come.’ Then, sweeping his arm over the audience, and turning half round as if to move off, he cried, in a voice that thrilled to the heart’s core—