in arm they walked up the street, cementing a friendship quickly ripened over the ashes of a dead hatred.
As they swung into the street where Alan lived, a car drew up at the MarFarland house, and someone leaned out and signaled.
“That you, Mac?” called Keith Washburn. “Here’s a package Sherrill sent over. Evening, Bob.”
“Thanks awfully, Keith. Won’t you come in?” said Alan, taking the package.
“Wish I could, Mac, but I’m on my way over to West Grove. Just got a wire from a man I’ve been wanting to see for some time, and he’s taking the midnight train, so I’m hot foot to get there to ask him a few questions before he leaves. How about going with me, both of you? I’d be awfully glad of company.”
“Sorry, Keith, but Bob is leaving in the morning, and we’ve got some things to do before he goes.”
“Oh, yes, Sherrill told me about it. Great chance, Bob. Wouldn’t mind being in your boots. Dig up a few kings and buried cities for me, won’t you? Hope you have a wonderful time. We’ll think about you. Let us know how you’re coming on now and then. Well, sorry you can’t go with me. So long!”
Bob looked after the car wistfully. Somehow the hometown and the home folks had suddenly taken on a friendly look they had never shown before.
“I like him,” he said suddenly, as if he were thinking aloud.
“He certainly is a prince of a fellow,” said Alan, as he got out his latchkey.
The boys went quietly upstairs to Alan’s room and sat down to talk. As they turned on the light, they saw a big pitcher of milk and a plate of sandwiches and cake.
“Draw up and let’s have a bite,” said Alan. “My mother thinks I haven’t eaten supper evidently.”
“Is that the kind of thing mothers do?” Bob said wistfully. “Good night! And you wanted to go for dessert! Well, if I had a mother like that, I don’t know but I’d turn the job over to some other fellow, too.”
“Say,” said Alan thoughtfully, “you begin to make me think I haven’t been half appreciative of my lot.”
When they had cleared the plates and finished the milk, Alan reached for the package and untied it.
“This,” he said, as he opened the box, “is for you, Bob. It’s from the bunch. They want you to take it with you. Think you’ve got room to carry it?”
He felt just the least bit embarrassed now that he had begun. He was not quite sure how Bob would take the gift of a Bible. Perhaps after all, as Sherrill had suggested, he might resent it. He had the name of not caring much for religion or churches.
“For me?” said Bob with pleased surprise. “From the bunch? Say, what have you been saying to them? The bunch never cared a red cent for me.”
“That’s all you know about it, Bob,” said Alan. “And I haven’t said a word to them. It was all cooked up by the bunch. Sherrill Washburn is president, you know, this year, and she called me up awhile ago and asked if I thought you would mind their giving it to you.”
“Mind?” said Bob. “Indeed I do mind. I mind so much that I’ll carry it all the way in my hands if there isn’t any other place for it. What is it?”
“That’s it, Bob. I guess maybe they thought it wasn’t quite in your line. They didn’t know but you might like something else better. You see, it’s—a Bible!”
Alan stripped off the confining paper and handed over the beautifully bound Scofield Bible.
The other boy took it with a look of awe and reverence that astonished MacFarland. He held it in his hand a moment and felt of its covers, opened it and noted its suppleness, its gold edges, its fine paper, its clear print, and then looked down for an instant, almost as if he were going to cry.
“I’ve never had a Bible,” he said huskily at last, “but I’ll see to it hereafter that it’s in my line. I sure am grateful.”
“I think they’ve written something in the front,” said Alan to cover his own deep feeling. He reached over and turned the pages back to the flyleaf where it was inscribed.
To Robert Fulton Lincoln with the best wishes of his friends of the West Avenue Young People’s Group.
There followed a long string of autographs, most of them belonging to Robert Lincoln’s former schoolmates, and at the bottom in small script, 2 Timothy 2:15.
“Here, I’ve got to get my name in that space they left there,” said Alan, getting out his fountain pen. “You see, I happen to be vice president of that bunch and hence the space.”
Bob watched him write his name, and a strange half-embarrassed silence filled the room till it was written.
“Thanks a lot,” he said, deeply affected, studying the names one by one. “Do you know—I never thought—I wouldn’t have expected—that is—well, you see, I’ve always thought nobody liked me. I’ve always felt awfully alone in this town. I guess that’s what made me act so rotten to you all. I thought you were a—I may as well confess it. I thought you were a lot of snobbish hypocrites.”
A strange, shamed look passed over Alan’s face, as if he had suddenly looked in the mirror and found his face dirty.
“Say, Bob,” he began, with a deep contrition, “I’m mighty sorry. I can’t ever forgive myself. But, old man, I’m beginning to think that perhaps your estimate of us was true. But Bob, we didn’t have an idea of it. Honest, we didn’t. Why, kid, we prayed for you the time you got hit by the automobile. We prayed in our Sunday night meeting for you.”
“I know you did,” said Bob with a thoughtful, faraway look, “and I hated it. One of the little kids told me, and I thought you did it to show off. But—say, Mac, I wish you’d pray for me again. I need it. It’s a mighty kind of stark living in this little old world all alone, even if I have got the chance of my lifetime.”
A great wave of love and joy thrilled up from Alan’s heart.
“I sure will,” he said, with a ring in his voice. “Let’s do it now. And I wish you’d pray for me. If ever a Christian felt mean and self-centered, and all kinds of rotten fool, I do. Come on.”
They knelt beside the big leather couch at the foot of the bed; Robert shyly, awkwardly, wondering just what he had brought upon himself by his impulsive words; but Alan in young eagerness, his arm flung across his companion’s shoulders.
“Oh, God,” he prayed, “I’ve been all kinds of a fool, but I thank You that You’ve shown me before it was too late. I thank You that You’ve given me this friend, and may we be friends always. And now won’t You just bless him, and show him what the Lord Jesus has done for him. We thank You together that the blood of Christ is sufficient to cover all our sins and mistakes, the sins and mistakes of both of us; and that even such carelessness as I have been guilty of, such lack of true witnessing for Christ, cannot keep either of us from wearing the robe of righteousness, because it is Christ’s righteousness that we may wear and not our own. Help Bob to make a surrender of himself to You before he goes, and when he goes may he take You with him, and feel that he is never alone. We ask it in the name
