Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1893-02-17

ITO lend il to Houston, sir" says
John.
AZ thought had forbidden you to
speak to that young manP" asked his
father.
"Yes, SIR" said John, "but 1 only
met him."
"WhereP" came Sne deadly ques-
ton.
"In billiard ROOM" was the
damning answer. Thus, had
Johns single departure from
the truth brought instant
punishment. For no other pcrpose
but to see Alan would he have entered
billiard room; but he had desired to
palliate the fact of his disobedience,
and now it happened that he FREE
quented these disreputable haunts
upon his own account.
Once more Mr.. Nicholson digested
the vile tidings in silence, and when
John stole O glance at his fathers
countenance he was abashed to see
the marks of suffering.
"Well," said the old gentleman at
last, 81 cannot pretend not to be
simply bowed down. rose this morn
ing what the world calls happy man
happy, at least, in son of whom l
l thought could be reasonably
proud
But it was beyond human nature to
endure this longer, and John inter-
rupted almost with q scream. "Oh,
wheestm he cried. That's not ALL
That's not the worst of it! It's moth
ing! How could tell you were proud
of meP Oh! wish, wish that had
known! But you always said that I
was such disgrace! And the dread
full thing is this: We were all taken
up last night, and we have to pay
Colette's fine among the six, or we'll be
had up for evidence-shebeeni it is.
They made me swear to tell you. But
for my part" he cried, bursting into
tears, II wish that l was dead!" and
he fell on his knees before chair aud
hid his face.
Whether his father spoke, and
whether he remained long in the room,
or at once departed, are points lost to
history. A horrid turmoil of mind
and body; bursting sobs; broken, van
ishing thoughts, now of Indignation,
now of remorse; broken elementary
whiffs of consciousness, Of the smell
of the horse-hair on the chair bottom
of the jangling of church bells that
now began to make day horrible
throughout the confines of the city;
of the hard floor that bruised his
knees; of the taste of tears that found
their way into his mouth; for period
of time, the duration of which / can
not guess, while I refuse to dwell
longer on its agony, these were the
whole of Gods world for John Nichol-
son.
When at last, as by the touching Of
spring, he returned again to clear
ness of consciousness and even a meas-
ure Of composure, the bells had but
just done ringing, and the Sabbath
silence was still marred by the patter
of belated feet. By the clock above
the fire, as we'll as by these more
speaking signs, the service had not
long begun; and the unhappy sinner,
if his father had really gone to church,
might count on near two hours Of
only comparative unhappiness. With
his father, the superlative degree re-
turned infallibly. He knew it by
every shrinking fiber in his body; he
knew it by the sudden dizzy whirling
of his brain, at the mere thought of
that calamity. An hour and half,
perhaps an hour and three-quarters,
if the doctor was long-winded, and
then would begin again that active
agony from which, even in the dull
ache of the present, he shrank as from
the bite of fire. He saw, in a vision,
the family pew, the somnolent
cushions, the Bibles, the psalm books,
Maria with her smelling salts, his
father sitting specialized and critical,
and at once he was struck with in
dignation, not unjustly. 1t was
inhuman to go off to church,
and leave a sinner in suspense, I'M
punished, unforgiven. And at the
very touch of criticism, the paternal
sanctity was lessened; yet the pater-
nal terror only grew, and the two
strands Of feeling pushed him in the
same direction.