“I’ve been reading this. It’s great stuff.”
“Oh, Pilgrim’s Progress,” said Sandy; “do you like it?”
“Yes.” Evans leaned above the book where it lay open under the light. “Listen:
“‘Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall: and with that, Christian’s sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now: and with that, he had almost prest him to death, so that Christian began to despair of life. But as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good Man, Christian nimbly reached out his hand for his Sword, and caught it, saying, Rejoice not against me, O mine Enemy! when I fall, I shall arise: and with that, gave him a deadly thrust, which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound: Christian perceiving that, made at him again saying, Nay, in all these things we are more than Conquerors, through him that loved us. And with that, Apollyon spread forth his Dragon’s wings, and sped him away, that Christian saw him no more.’”
Evans’ ringing voice gave full value to the words. It seemed to Arthur, worshipping his hero, as if he flung a hurled defiance at some unseen foe—“Rejoice not against me, O mine Enemy! when I fall, I shall arise!”
Yet when he looked up from the book Evans’ eyes were smiling.
“Would you like to take it home with you? It is a rare edition, but you know how to handle it. And I’d like to have you read it. Some day you may meet Apollyon. And may find it helpful. As I have.”
Later as the boys walked home together, the precious volume under Arthur’s arm, Sandy said, “He’s more like himself, isn’t he? More pep.”
“I’ll say he is,” but Arthur was not satisfied. “I wish he’d told us what he meant when he talked about meeting Apollyon.”