"I wish you wouldn't go, Ray," Betsy said. "I'm all alone with the children, and it is so stormy. I thought perhaps you'd stay and read to me."
Ray glanced at the clock. "I can wait a half hour, and then get there in time for the meeting; what shall I read?"
"Oh, select some chapter full of comfort," she answered, "for I'm just about discouraged. I believe George delights to do everything he can to try me since I became a Christian. He spends more time at the saloon, and don't help me near as much with the children. You know just how father has gone on since mother died; there is hardly a day he has been sober. The girls, too, say the most provoking things they can think of. I tell you, Ray, I find it pretty hard to do just as Jesus wants me to all the time. I wonder, sometimes, how you bear it all so patiently; you never seem to get discouraged."
"Yes I do," he quickly replied. "I find it hard among these old associations to keep from sin. The boys try every way to make me mad, and they have succeeded more than once. Only the other day I knocked John Gardiner down for calling me names, and to-day I almost swore at Ned Clark for breaking the yarns on my jack. The oath got clear to my teeth, and I shut it off with such force, it almost took my breath away. And you know just how father and the boys treat me. Not a week passes that they don't curse me for what they call my oddities. I tell you, Betsy, it's as hard for me as for you to show the spirit of Jesus at all times. I sometimes think, 'Has this got to be always?' I want to do something besides spin all my life. I wish I could get an education; I want to fit myself for Christ's work." And the boy sighed heavily.
These two, since their conversion, had, as often as possible, read the Bible and prayed together, but never before had Ray spoken of the longings of his heart. Betsy looked up in quick sympathy with him, saying:
"I wish you might become a preacher; wouldn't it be grand?"
"Yes; and I do feel called to that very work. I felt it at times before I even accepted Jesus. I mean to obey the call, too, just as fast as Jesus will show me the way."
He now opened his Bible and read the ninety-first Psalm; then knelt and offered a brief prayer, the burden of which was that he and his sister-in-law might never be discouraged, but, sure of the Master's presence and help, might ever walk in the path of known duty. After this, he started for up town.
It was a cold and dreary walk. The rain had turned to snow or fine sleet, which the wind blew furiously, driving it with blinding force into his face, and but for the street lamps he would have lost his way. He arrived at the church wet and cold, and well-nigh out of breath, to find but a bare half dozen besides the pastor. Even he seemed surprised to see the boy on such a night, and so expressed himself as he shook hands with him.
"I had no good excuse for not coming," the lad answered, simply.