Finally, Adam, whose feet had all the while been tending towards Aqueduct Street, made up his mind to enter the Mission Room and see if he could get any light on the subject that was perplexing him. He had no idea how to make a start on the new road, and he thought it was best to try and find out during his wife's absence. She was against this sort of thing, and he remembered a remark made by her that very morning, as she unfolded her one carefully preserved stuff gown, and smoothed out its creases. "See, Adam, it looks almost as good as new. I am glad I never started going to church on Sundays. If I had, this gown would have been worn out, and I should not have one decent to go in now."
Adam was in good time, and he at first stood near the Mission Room door, then ventured inside, and waited until some one invited him to take a seat. "You can go where you like," he was told, so he placed himself where he could get a clear view of the platform. He had made up his mind to hear all he could, and if he felt in any way the better for his new experiences, to tell Maggie when she came home. If not, he would be silent.
Adam was not quite prepared to see Mr. Drummond. Indeed, he heard his voice before he did see him, for the manager came in along with the mission preacher, Mr. Kennedy. As they passed towards the upper end of the room, Mr. Drummond came close to Adam, and at sight of the striker's earnest face, his own brightened. He stopped for an instant to shake hands, and to tell Adam that he was glad he had not forgotten the invitation given on the previous Saturday.
"My wife's mother is ill, and she's gone to see her, I felt lonely, so I thought I'd come here for a bit," said Adam, as if his presence needed an excuse. Then he noticed how the manager went forward and talked to first one and another of the homely-looking men, such as himself, meeting them as if there were no social differences. In the group near the platform, he saw the two who had called at his door on the Saturday evening, and he observed how all their faces seemed to brighten as they exchanged greetings.
"And yet," thought Adam, "though Mr. Drummond makes himself of no account here, he's not the man to be trifled with at Rutherford's. What he says has got to be done. The place was never better ordered than it is now, but nobody ever says he isn't fair to everybody."
Adam's musings were interrupted by the giving out of a hymn, and at the same moment, a book was put into his hand, with the place found for him. He was not much given to singing, but he had a great love for music, and we know the charm his wife's voice had exercised over him in their early married days. It was a delight to him to find that the children "were so tuneable," though they sang more out of doors than in, because the mother complained that she could not bear the racket; it made her head ache.
Everybody knows how the little folks catch the tunes and words of popular hymns, though they often sing them with no knowledge of their real meaning, and Adam's were no exception. The moment he heard the tune, he recognised it as one that his children sang sometimes, but he had never noticed the words. Now he read them.
"I am so glad that our Father in heaven
Tells of His love in the Book He has given:
Wonderful things in the Bible I see
This is the dearest, that Jesus loves me."
Then uprose the rejoicing chorus, in which, however, Adam took no part. How could he? What did he know of that love they were singing about? What of the Book which told the story of the love of Jesus?
The man was only sensible of an inner longing that nothing within his own life and experience could satisfy. In his heart was that yearning after God, that sense of void which, at one time or other, is felt instinctively by every human soul, and which must remain until He who first implanted it also satisfies it. He who has made of one blood all nations of men has ordained "that they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after Him and find Him, though He be not far from every one of us. For in Him we live and move and have our being."