Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1903-11-10

By RALPH CONNOR

0i

mo, lie does not care, sue dHS"eieu
with angry emphasis, and the Pilot
made no reply.
Perhaps" she went on hesitatingly,
"he's angry because said didn't care
for him, you remember? That was
very wicked. But don't you think I'm
punished nearly enough now? You
made me very angry. and didn't real
ly mean it"
Poor Gwen! God had grown to be
very real to her during these weeks Of
pain. and very terrible. The Pilot look
ed down q moment into the blue gray
eyes, grown so big and so pitiful, and,
hurriedly dropping OH his knees beside
the bed. he said in very unsteady
voice:
"Oh. Gwen, Gwen, he's not like that!
Don't you remember how Jesus was
with the poor sick people? That's what
he's like"
"Could Jesus make me well?"
eyes, Gwen"
"Then why doesn't hep she asked,
and there was no impatience now, but
only trembling anxiety as she went on
In a timid voice: II asked him to, over
and over, and said would wait two
months, and now it's more than three.
Are you quite sure he hears now"
She raised herself on her elbow and
gazed searchingly into the Pilots face.
I was glad It was not into mine. AS
she uttered the words. "Are you quite
sure?' one felt that things were in the
balance I could not help looking at
the Pilot with intense anxiety. What
would he answer? The Pilot gazed out
of the window upon the hills for few
moments-how long the silence SEEM
ed!-then. turning, looked into the eyes
that searched his so steadily and an
swered simply:
"Yes. Gwen, I am quite sure" Then,
with quick inspiration, he got her
mothers Bible and said, "Now. Gwen,
try to see it as l read" But before he
read. with the true artists instinct he
created the proper atmosphere. BY
few vivid words he made us feel the
pathetic loneliness of the Man Of Sor-
rows in his last sad days. Then he
read that ma Iterpiece of all tragic pic
turing, the st Dry Of Gethsemane. And
as he read we saw it all-the garden
and the trees and the sorrow stricken
Man alone with his mysterious agony.
We heard the prayer so patheucally
submissive, and then. for answer. the
rabble and the traitor.
Gwen was far too quick to need ex-
PLANTATION. and the Pilot only said. "You
see, Gwen. God gave nothing but the
best-to his own Son only the best"
"The best? They took him away.
didn't they% She knew the story well.
"Yes. but listen" He turned the
leaves rapidly and read: "'We see
Jesus for the suffering Of death crown
ed with glory and honor That Is how
he got his kingdom"
Gwen listened silent. but unconvinced.
and then said slowly:
"But how can this be best for mef
am no use to any one. 1t can't be best
to lust lie here and make them all wait
on me. and--and-I did want to help
daddy-and-oh-I know they will get
tired Of me! They are getting tired al
ready. I-I--can't help being hateful
She was by this time sobbing as l
had never heard her before-deep. pas
sionnte sobs. Then again the Pilot had
an inspiration.
Now. Gwen" he said severely. "you
know we're not as mean as that and
that you are just talking nonsense, ev-
cry word. Now I'm going to smooth
out your red hair and tell YOU story"
Its not red" she cried, between her
sobs. This was her sore point
"It is red. as red as can be: beau
tiful. shining purple red" said the Pilot
emphatically, beginning to brush.
"Purplew cried Gwen scornfully.
"Yes. I've seen it in the sun. purple.
Haven't you?" said the Pilot, appealing
to ME. "And my story is about the can
yon. our canyon. your canyon. down
there"
"Is it true?' asked Gwen, already
soothed by the cool, quick moving
hands.
"True? It's as true as-as"-he
glanced around the room-"as the Pill
grim's Progress" This was satisfac-
tory. and the story went on.
"At first there were no canyons. but
only the broad. open prairie. One day
the master Of the prairie. walking out
over his great lawns. where were only
grasses. asked the prairie, Where are
your fowersT and the prairie said.
Master. l have no seeds Then he
spoke to the birds. and they carried
seeds Of every kind Of flower and
strewed them far and wide, and soon
the prairie bloomed with crocuses
and roses and buffalo beans and the
yellow crowfoot and the wild sunfow-
ers and the red lilies all the summer
long.
"Then the master came and was we'll
pleased. but he missed the flowers he
loved best Of all. and he said to the
prairie, Where are the clematis and
the columbine. the sweet violets and
wind flowers. and all the ferns and
towering shrubs?' And again he spoke
to the birds. and again they carried all
the seeds and strewed them far and
wide. But. again. when the master
came. he could not find the flowers he
| loved best of all. and he said. Where
are those. my sweetest flowers? and
the prairie cried sorrowfully. oh, mas
ter. / cannot keep the flowers. for the
winds sweeo tiercely and the sun beats