Three People

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He was a brave, fearless boy; no darkness had ever before held any
terrors for him. I am not sure that he would not have whistled
contemptuously over a whole legion of supposed ghosts. He was entirely
familiar with, and quite indifferent to, that most frightful of all
human sights, a reeling, swearing drunkard; but this was quite another
matter, this great solemn eye of God, which he felt to-night for the
first time, looking steadily down upon him, never forgetting him for a
moment, never by any chance turning away and giving him time to go to
sleep. Tode didn't know why he felt this terrible new feeling; he didn't
know that the loving, pitying Savior had his tender eyes bent on him,
and was calling him, that God had used that powerful thrust from the
Spirit to wound his sinful heart; he knew nothing about it, save that he
was afraid, and desolate and very miserable. Suddenly he sprung up, a
little of his ordinary determination coming back to him.

"What's the use," he muttered, "of a fellow lying shivering here; if I
can't sleep, I might as well give it up first as last I'll go down to
the parlor, and whistle 'Yankee Doodle,' or something else until train
time."

But his hand trembled so in his attempt to strike a light, that he
failed again and again. Finally he was dressed, and went out into the
hall. Mr. Roberts opened his own door at that moment, and seeing the boy
gave him what he thought would be a happy message:

"Tode, you can sleep over to-night. Jim is on hand, and you may be ready
for the five o'clock train."

No excuse now for going down stairs, and the wretched boy crept back to
his room; _utterly_ wretched he felt, and he had no human friend to help
him, no human heart to comfort him. He wrapped a quilt about him and sat
down on the edge of his bed to calculate how long his bit of candle
would probably burn, and what he _should_ do when he was left once more
in that awful darkness. On his table lay a half-burnt lamp lighter. He
mechanically untwisted it, and twisted it up again, busy still with that
fearful sentence: "The eyes of the Lord are in _every_ place." The
lighter was made of a bit of printed paper, and Tode could read. The
letters caught his eye, and he bent forward to decipher them; and of all
precious words that can be found in our language, came these home to
that troubled youth: "Look unto me and be ye saved, all--" Just there
the paper was burned. No matter, be ye _saved_, that was what he wanted.
He felt in his inmost soul that he needed to be saved, from himself, and
from some dreadful evil that seemed near at hand. Now how to do it? The
smoke-edged bit of paper said, "Look unto me." Who was that blessed
_Me_, and where was he, and how could Tode look to him?

Quick as lightning the boy's memory went back to that evening in the
chapel, and the wonderful story of one Jesus, and the gray-haired man
in the corner, who stood up and shut his eyes, and spoke to Jesus just
as if he had been in the room. Perhaps, oh, _perhaps_, the All-seeing
Eye belonged to him? No, that could not be, for that card said, "The
eyes of the Lord," and Tode knew that meant God, but you see he knew
nothing about that blessed Trinity, the three in One. Then he remembered
his question to Dora: "Who is Jesus, anyhow?" and her answer: "Why, he
is God." What if it should in some strange way all mean God? Couldn't he
try? Suppose he should stand up in the corner like that old man, and
shut his eyes and speak to Jesus? What harm could it do? A great
resolution came over him to try it at once. He went over to the corner
at the foot of his bed with the first touch of reverence in his face
that perhaps it had ever felt. He closed his eyes and said aloud: "O
Jesus, save me." Over and over again were the words repeated, solemnly
and slowly, and in wonderful earnestness: "O Jesus, save me." Gradually
something of the terror died out of his tones, and there came instead a
yearning, longing sound to his voice, while again and yet again came the
simple words: "O Jesus, save me."

After a little Tode came quietly out of his corner, deliberately blew
out his light and went to bed, not at all unmindful of the All-seeing
Eye; but someway it had ceased to burn. He felt very grave and solemn,
but not exactly afraid, and a new strange feeling of some loving
presence in his room possessed his heart, and the thought of that name
Jesus brought tears into his eyes, he didn't know why. He didn't know
that there was such a thing as being a Christian; he didn't know that he
had anything to do with Christ; he didn't know that he was in the least
different from the Tode who lay there but an hour before only. Yes, that
solemn Eye did not make him afraid now; and with an earnest repeatal of
his one prayer, which he did not know _was_ prayer, "O Jesus, save me,"
Tode went to sleep.

But I think that the recording angel up in heaven opened his book that
night and wrote a new name on its pages, and that the ever-listening
Savior said, "_I_ have called him by his name; he is mine."

In the gray glimmering dawn of the early morning Tode stood out on the
steps, and waited for the rush of travelers from the train. They came
rushing in, cold and cross, many of them unreasonable, too, as cold and
hungry travelers so often are; but on each and all the boy waited,
flying hither and thither, doing his utmost to help make them
comfortable; being apparently not one whit different from the bustling
important boy who flew about there every morning intent upon the same
duties, and yet he had that very morning fallen heir to a glorious
inheritance. True, he did not know it yet, but no matter for that, his
title was sure.

The days went round, and Sunday morning came. Now Sunday was a very busy
day at the hotel. Aside from the dreadful Sunday trains that came
tearing into town desecrating the day, the whole country seemed to
disgorge itself, and pleasure-seekers came in cliques of twos and fours
for a ride and a warm dinner on this gala day. Tode had wont to be busy
and blithe on these days, but on this eventful Sabbath morning it was
different. Gradually he was becoming aware that some strange new
feelings possessed his heart. He had continued the repeatal of the one
prayer, "O Jesus, save me;" going always to the corner at the foot of
his bed, and closing his eyes to repeat it. And now he was conscious of
the fact that he had little thrills of delight all over him when he said
these words, and a new, strange, sweet sense of protection and
friendship stole over him from some unknown source. Now a longing
possessed him to know something more about Jesus. He had heard of him at
only one place, that chapel. Naturally his thoughts turned toward it. He
knew it would be open on that day, and "Who knows," said ignorant Tode
to himself, "but they might happen to say something about him to-day."
In short, Tode, knowing nothing about "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep
it holy," never having so much as heard that there _was_ a fourth
commandment, wanted to go to church. And wanting this very much, knew at
the same time that it was an extremely doubtful case, utterly unlikely
that he should be allowed to go.

He brushed his hair before his bit of glass, and buttoned on his clean
collar, all the time in deep thought. A sudden resolution came to him,
that old man had said Jesus would give us everything we wanted or needed
or something like that.

"I'll try it," said Tode, aloud and positively. "'Tain't no harm if it
don't do no good, and 'tain't nobody's business, anyhow."

And with these strangely original thoughts on the subject of prayer, he
went into his corner, but once there the reverent look with which he
nowadays pronounced that sacred name spread over his face as he said, "O
Jesus, I want to go to that church, and I s'pose I can't." This was
everything Tode was conscious of wanting just at present, so this was
all he said, only repeating it again and again.

Then when he went down stairs he marched directly to headquarters, and
made known his desires.

"Mr. Roberts, I want this forenoon to myself. Can I have it?"

"You do," answered Mr. Roberts, eyeing him thoughtfully. "Well, as such
requests are rare from you, and as Jim's brother is here to help, I
think I may say yes."

"A queer, bright, capable boy," Mr. Roberts thought, looking after Tode
as he dashed off down town. "Going to make just the man for our
business. I must begin to promote him soon."

As for Tode he was in high glee.

"What brought that Jim's brother over to help to-day?" he asked himself.
"I'd like to know _that_ now. I believe I do, as sure as I'm alive, that
_he_ heard every word, and has been and fixed it all out. I most know he
has, 'cause things didn't ever happen around like this for me before."

The pronoun "he" did not refer to Jim's brother, and was spoken with
that touch of awe and reverence which had so lately come to Tode. And I
think that the words were recorded up in heaven, as having a meaning not
unlike the acknowledgment of those less ignorant disciples, "Lord, I
believe."

CHAPTER X.

HABAKKUK.

The church toward which Tode bent his eager steps was quite filled when
he reached it, but the sexton made a way for him, and he settled into a
seat with a queer, awkward sense of having slipped into a spot that was
not intended for such as he; but the organ tones took up his attention,
and then in a moment a burst of music from the congregation, among the
words of which he could catch ever and anon that magic name Jesus. So at
least they were going to sing about him. Yes, and talk to him also, for
Mr. Birge's prayer, though couched in language quite beyond Tode's
reaching, yet closed with the to him wonderful sentence, "We ask in the
name and for the sake of Jesus our Redeemer." When he opened the great
book which Tode knew was the Bible, the boy was all attention; something
more from the Bible he was anxious to hear. He got out his bit of pencil
and a crumpled twist of paper, and when Mr. Birge announced that he
would read the fourth Psalm, Tode bent forward and carefully and
laboriously made a figure four and the letters S A M in his very best
style, and believed that he had it just right. Then he listened to the
reading as sometimes those do not who can glibly spell the words. Yet
you can hardly conceive how like a strange language it sounded to him,
so utterly unfamiliar was he with the style, so utterly ignorant of its
meaning. Only over the last verse he had almost laughed.

"I will both lay me down in peace and sleep; for thou, Lord, only makest
me dwell in safety."

_Didn't_ he know about that? The awful night, those dreadful eyes, and
the peace in which he laid down and slept at last.

"Oh, ho," he said to himself, "some other fellow has had a time of it,
too, I guess, and put it in the Bible. I'm glad I've found out about it
just as I did."

Tode didn't mean to be irreverent. You must continually bear in mind the
fact that he didn't know the meaning of the word; that he knew nothing
about the Bible, nor dreamed that the words which so delighted him were
those of inspiration, sounding down through the ages for the peace and
comfort of such as he.

Presently Mr. Birge announced his text, reading it from that same great
book, and Tode's heart fluttered with delighted expectation as he heard
the words, "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." The _very_ name! and of all
news this, that he passes by. Oh, Tode _wanted_ so to see him, to hear
about him. He sat erect, and his dark cheek flushed with excitement as
he listened eagerly to every word. And the Spirit of the Master had
surely helped to indite that sermon, for it told in its opening
sentences the simple story, entirely new to Tode.

"A little more than eighteen hundred years ago, very near a certain
city, might have been seen a large concourse of people, differently
circumstanced in life, many of them such as had been healed of the
various diseases with which they had long been afflicted. This throng
were following a person upon whose words they hung, and by whose power
many of them had been healed. As they passed by the roadside sat a blind
man begging. He, hearing the crowd, asks what it is. They answer, 'Jesus
of Nazareth passeth by.'"

Thus, through the beautiful and touching story, he dwelt on each detail,
giving it vivid coloring, bringing it almost before the very eyes of the
eager boy, who drank in every word.

The truth grew plain to his mind, that this Jesus of Nazareth once on
earth had now gone back to heaven, and yet, oh beautiful mystery, still
was here; and he heard for the first time that old, old story of the
scoffed and spit upon, and bleeding and dying Savior; heard of his
prayer even in dying for the cruel ones who took his life. So simply and
so tenderly was the story told, that when the minister exclaimed: "Oh
what a loving, sympathizing, forgiving Savior is ours!" Tode, with his
eyes blinded by tears, repeated the words in his heart, and felt "amen."

Then came the explanation of his passing by us now, daily, hourly,
calling us in a hundred ways, and then--a few sentences written, it
would seem, expressly for Tode's own need:

"Sometimes," said the minister, "he passes by, speaking to the soul with
some passage from the Word. Did you never wonder that some portion, some
little sentence from the Bible, should so forcibly impress your mind,
and so cling to you? Perhaps you tried to drive it away so much did it
trouble you, but still it hovered around, and seemed to keep repeating
itself over and over to your heart. Be not deceived. This was Jesus of
Nazareth passing by, waiting for you to say, 'Jesus, thou Son of David,
have mercy on me.'"

Was ever anything so wonderful! How could Mr. Birge have found out
about it--that dreadful night--and the one verse saying itself over and
over again! Then to think that it was Jesus himself calling and waiting.
Could it be possible--was he really calling _him_? And the tears which
had been gathering in Tode's eyes dropped one by one on his hand.

Presently, as he listened, the minister's tones grew very solemn.

"There are none before me to-day who can say, 'He never came to me.'
Sinner, he is near you now, near enough to hear your voice, near enough
to answer your call. Will you call upon him? Will you let him help you?
Will you take him for your Savior? Will you serve him while you live on
earth that you may live in heaven to serve him forever?"

From Tode's inmost soul there came answers to these solemn questions: "I
will, I will, I will."

And there went out from the church that Sabbath day one young heart who
felt himself cured of his blindness by that same Jesus of Nazareth; who
felt himself given up utterly to Jesus, body and soul and life; and
without a great insight as to what that solemn consecration meant, he
yet took in enough of it to feel a great peace in his heart.

"There goes a Christian man, if ever there was one." This said a
gentleman to his companion, speaking of another who had passed them.

Tode overheard it, and stood still on the street.

"A Christian," said he to himself, quoting from a sentence in Mr.
Birge's sermon. "A Christian is one who loves and serves the Lord Jesus
Christ with his whole heart." Then aloud. "I wonder, I do wonder now, if
I am a Christian? Oh, what if I was!" A moment of earnest thought, then
Tode held up his head and walked firmly on. "I _mean_ to be," he said,
with a ring in his voice that meant decision.

Tode was dusting and putting in order a lately vacated room one morning.
He was whistling, too; he whistled a great deal these days, and felt
very bright and happy. He picked up three leaves which had evidently
been torn from an old book; reading matter was rather scarce with him,
and he stopped the dusting to discover what new treasure might be
awaiting him here. He spelled out, slowly and carefully, the name at the
top: "H-a-b-a-k-k-u-k."

"Queerest name for a book ever I heard of," he muttered. "Words must
have been scarce, I reckon. Let's see what it reads about. School book,
like enough; if 'tis I'll get it all by heart."

And Tode sat down upon the edge of a chair to investigate. The story,
if story it were, commenced abruptly to him.

"Scorn unto them," being the first words on the page. He read on: "They
shall deride every stronghold; for they shall heap dust and take it."

"My! what curious talk," said Tode. "What ever is it coming at? I can't
make nothing out of it."

Nevertheless he read on; only a few lines more and then this sentence:
"Art thou not from everlasting, O Lord my God, mine Holy One?"

A sudden look of intelligence and delight flushed over Tode's face; and
springing up he rushed into the hall and down the stairs, nearly
tumbling over Mr. Ryan in his haste.

Mr. Ryan was a good-natured boarder, and on very friendly terms with
Tode.

"Oh, Mr. Ryan!" burst forth Tode. "What is this reading on these
leaves?"

"Why, Tode, what's up now; forgot how to read?"

"Oh bother, no; but I mean where did it come from. It's tore out of a
book, don't you see?"

"Piece of a Bible," answered Mr. Ryan, giving the leaves a careless and
the boy a searching glance. "What is there so interesting about it?"

"What's it got such a queer name for? What does H-a-b-a-k-k-u-k spell,
and what does it mean?"

"That's a man's name, I believe."

"Who was he, and what about him?"

"More than I know, my boy. Never heard of him before that I know of.
What do you care?"

It was Tode's turn to bestow a searching glance.

"Got a Bible of your own?" he asked at last.

"Oh yes, I own one, I believe."

"And never read it! Bah, what good does it do you to have books if you
don't read 'em? Now I'm going to find out about this 'H-a-b-a-k-k-u-k,'
and then I shall know more than you do."

Mr. Ryan laughed a little, but withal seemed somewhat embarrassed. Tode
left him and sped back to his dusting.

"Queer chap that," muttered Mr. Ryan. "I don't know what to make of
him."

And a little sense of what might be termed shamefacedness stole over him
at the thought that this ignorant boy prized more highly his three
leaves of a Bible, picked out of the waste-basket, and possibly was
going to know more about it than he, Edgar Ryan, had gleaned from his
own handsomely bound copy, wherein his Christian mother had written
years ago his own loved name. Mr. Ryan, the cultivated young lawyer,
took down his handsome Bible from the shelf of unused books as soon as
he had reached his office, dusted it carefully, and turned over the
leaves to discover something about Habakkuk.

As for Tode, he literally poured over his three leaves. Very little of
the language did he understand--the great and terrible figures were
utterly beyond his knowledge; yet as he read them once, and again and
again, something of the grandeur and sublimity stole into his heart,
helped him without his knowledge, and now and then a word came home, and
he caught a vague glimpse of its meaning. "Thou art of purer eyes than
to behold evil." That was plain; that must mean the great All-seeing
Eyes, for Tode knew enough of human nature to have much doubt as to
whether any human eyes were pure. But then those unsleeping eyes _did_
behold evil--saw. Oh, Tode could conceive better than many a
Sabbath-school scholar can just how much evil there was to behold. How
was that? Ah! Tode's brain didn't know, couldn't tell; but into his
heart had come the knowledge that between all the evil men and women in
this evil world, and those pure eyes of an angry God, there stood the
blood-red cross of Christ.

There were many guests to be waited on; the tables were filling rapidly.
Tode was springing about with eager steps, handling deftly coffee,
oysters, wine, anything that was called for--bright, busy, brisk as
usual. As he set a cup of steaming coffee beside Mr. Ryan's plate, that
gentleman glanced up good-humoredly and addressed him.

"Well, Tode, how is Habakkuk?"

"First-rate, sir, only there's some queer things in it."

"I should think there was!" laughed Mr. Ryan, spilling his coffee in his
mirth. "Rather beyond you, isn't it?"

"Well, _some_ of it," said Tode, hesitatingly. "But it all means
_something_, likely, and I'm learning it, so I'll have it on hand to
find out about one of these days, when I find a lawyer or somebody who
can explain it, you know."

This last with a twinkle of the eye, and a certain almost noiseless
chuckle, that said it was intended to hit.

"You're learning it!" exclaimed Mr. Ryan, undisguised astonishment
mingling with his amusement.

"Yes, sir. Learn a figure a day. It's all marked off into figures, you
know, sir."

"Well, of all queer chaps, you're the queerest!"

And Mr. Ryan went off into another laugh as Tode sped away to a new
corner. By the time he was ready for a second cup of coffee, Mr. Ryan
was also ready with more questions.

"Well, sir, what's to-day's figure?"

"For the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the
Lord, as the waters cover the sea," repeated Tode, promptly and glibly.

"Indeed! and what do you make out of that?"

"It makes itself; and that's something that's going to be one of these
days."

"Oh, and what does the 'glory of the Lord' mean, Tode?"

"_I_ don't know; expect _he_ does, though," answered Tode, simply and
significantly.

Mr. Ryan didn't seem inclined to continue that line of questioning.

"Well," he said, presently, "let's turn to an easier chapter. What's
to-morrow's figure?"

"Don't know. I might look though, if you wanted to hear." And Tode drew
his precious three leaves from his vest pocket.

"Oh, you carry Habakkuk about with you, do you? Well, let's have the
figure by all means, only pass me that bottle of wine first."

But Tode's face paled and his limbs actually shook.

"I can't do it," he said at last.

"You can't! Why, what's up?"

"Just look for yourself, sir. It's the figure 15." And he thrust the bit
of leaf before the gay young lawyer, and pointed with his finger to the
spot.

Of all words that could have come before his eyes just then, it seemed
strange indeed that these should be the ones:

"Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor drink!"

"Pshaw!" said Mr. Ryan at last, with a little nervous laugh. "Don't be a
goose, Tode. Take your paper away and pass me the wine."

"I can't, sir," answered Tode, earnestly. "I promised him to-day, I did,
that I was going to do it all just as fast as I found it out."

"Promised who? What are you talking about?"

"Promised the Lord Jesus Christ, sir. I told him this very day."

"Fiddlesticks. You don't understand. This refers to drunkards."

"It don't say so," answered Tode, simply.

"Yes, it does. Don't it say, 'and makes him drunk?'"

"It says and makes him drunk _also_," Tode said, with a sharp, searching
look.

Mr. Ryan laughed that short nervous laugh again.

"You ought to study law, Tode," was all _he_ said. Then after a moment.
"I advise you to attend to business, and let Habakkuk look after
himself. Jim, pass that wine bottle this way."

This to another attendant who was near at hand, and Tode moved away to
attend to other wants, and to turn over in his mind this new and
startling thought.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XI.

BUSINESS AND BOTTLES.

He was still thinking when the busy work of the day was done--thinking
anxiously about the same thing.

"It's _there_, plain as day," he said, in a perplexed tone, sitting down
on the corner of the bed, and running his fingers distractedly through
his hair. "'Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor drink, that puttest
thy bottle to him.' That's it, word for word, and that's the Bible, and
I do it, why fifty times a day; and I've got to if I stay here. That's a
fact, no getting around it. 'Tain't my bottle, though, it's Mr.
Roberts', and back of him it's Mr. Hastings'. I do declare!" And Tode
paused, overwhelmed with this new thought.

"Whatever do them two men mean now, I'd like to know?" he continued,
after a moment. "Don't make no kind of difference, though; that's
_their_ lookout, I reckon. It's _me_ that puts the bottle to the
neighbors' lips, time and time again. No gettin' around that. They ain't
my neighbors, though. I ain't got no neighbors, them are folks that
lives next door to you. Well, even then, there's Mr. Ryan, he's next
door to mine, and there's young Holden and that peanut man, they're next
door on t'other side, and there's Mr. Pierson, he's next door below.
Why, now, I've got neighbors thick as hops, nearer than most folks have,
and I put the bottle to their lips every day of my life, every single
one of 'em."

Silence for a little, and then another phase of the question.

"Well, now, where's the use? If _I_ didn't hand the bottle to 'em, why
Jim _would_; and they'd get it all the same, so where's the difference?
That's none of my business," Tode answered himself sharply, and with a
touch of the feeling which means, "Get thee behind me, Satan." "It don't
say 'woe to Jim,' and I ain't got nothing to do with him; it don't say
that if it's got to be done anyhow, I may as well do it as any other
fellow. It just says '_woe_' right out, sharp and plain; and I know
about it, and I do it, that's the point. Stick to that point, Tode Mall,
you blockhead, you. If you're arguing a thing, why don't you _argue_,
and not slip and slide all over creation."

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