Gods Men Read Online Free PDF Page B

had a letter from his father. He did not even know if he lived.
    There in the darkening Chinese street, amid the dim lights of oil lanterns and candles of cows’ fat, listening to the sounds of coming night, mothers calling their children in from the streets, a sick child crying, an angry quarrel somewhere, the slam of wooden doors sliding into place in front of shops, a wailing two-stringed violin, the howl of the rising night wind, he was overcome with terror. He was a stranger and in a strange land. Whither could he and his little family flee? He thought of his wife’s tender looks, the gentleness of the two pale little girls, his son’s growing manhood. These were all he had, given him by God, and what did they have? He had robbed them of their birthright upon the farm, the safety of their own kind about them, a roof secure above their humble heads. If evil men killed these for whom he was responsible he could believe no more in God. In the darkness he stretched his hands toward heaven. The cold and twinkling stars were above him. There was no moon. None could see him, and he fell upon his knees, even here in the street, and he cried out to God. Then clenching his hands upon his bosom he lifted his face up and shut his eyes against the laughing stars.
    â€œOh, God,” he whispered. “Thou who at this moment maybe art looking down upon my dear old home, which I left, dear God, thinking it was what Thou wanted. Thou canst see into all hearts and knowest whether it is true that evil men are seeking our lives. Humbly I say I have noticed some difference myself in the Chinese in the last months. Our landlord wants us to move without reason. I have kept him paid up, though it has been hard to find the money always on time. But Thou dost provide. Save our lives and keep us safe, I now pray, and especially those dear ones whom Thou has given me, and yet I say Thy will be done, and I will not love them above Thee.”
    His head sank upon his breast and his chin rested upon his folded hands. He waited for the tide of faith to swell into his heart.
    It came at last, warming the blood in his veins, strengthening his heart like wine, convincing him that he was doing what was right. “Fear not, for I am with thee always—” He could hear the words he knew so well.
    â€œAmen, God,” he replied with reverence. He rose and plodded along the empty street toward the four small rooms where those whom he loved awaited him. Yes, he struggled constantly not to love them too well. They were not, he told himself, all that he had. For he had the immeasurable love of God.
    In less than half an hour he opened the door of his home and saw the sight which always gladdened him. The table was set for the evening meal. Mary sat beside the lighted oil lamp mending some garment, and Clem was studying one of his books. The two little girls were playing with a clay doll which a kindly Chinese woman had given them.
    They looked up when he came in, and he heard their greetings. For some foolish reason he could not keep the tears from his eyes. Mary rose and came toward him and he was glad the light was dim. Even so he closed his eyes when he kissed her lest a tear fall upon her face. Then he stooped to the little girls and avoided the eyes of his son.
    Only when he had conquered his sudden wish to weep did he speak to Clem. “What’s the book, son?”
    â€œA history book, Papa. I got it today at Mr. Fong’s shop.”
    â€œWhat history?”
    â€œA history of America.”
    He scarcely heard Clem’s voice. He was savoring his relief, the assurance God was giving him. They were all here, all safe. He would not tell them about the danger. There was no need. It was gone. “I will put my trust in the Lord.” With these silent words he bade his heart be still.
    The lamps in the mission house were all lit, and Dr. Lane was upstairs dressing for dinner. He did not encourage his wife’s