The Angel of His Presence Read Online Free PDF Page A

other things had come in to fill his mind, he had no wish to give up the "na me to live." And yet he was con scious, strangely, abnormally conscious of that decanter. His Master seemed to be looking at it too, and to be inquiring of him how he came to have it in his possession. For the fi rst time he was conscious, pain fully so, that he had never given its donor any cause to think that such a gift would be less acceptable to him than something else. His Master had understood that too, he felt sure. He was annoyed that he could frame no excuse for himself, as he had so easily done when the gift first reached him. He had even been confident that he would be able to explain it to his mother so that she would be rather pleased with the gift than otherwise, strong temperance woman though he knew her to be. Now all his reasons had fled. The eyes of his Master, his kind, loving, sorrowing Master were upon him. He began to be irritated at the picture. He arose and seized the decanter hastily, to put it somewhere out of sight, just where he had not thought.
    Now the officious Thomas, who knew his place and his work so well, had placed in the new, freshly washed decanter a small quantity of the rare old Scotch whiskey that had come with it. Thomas knew good whiskey when he saw—that is, tasted—it, and he was proud of a master to whom such a gift had been given . John Stanley did not expect to find anything in his decanter until he put it there himself, or gave orders to that effect. He was new to the ways of a "man" who so well understood his business. As he jerked the offending article toward him, some of this whiskey spilled out of the top that had perhaps not been firmly closed after Thomas had fully tested the whiskey. Its fumes so astonished its owner that, he knew not how, he dropped the decanter and it shivered into fragments at his feet on the dull red tiles of the hearth.
    Ann oyed beyond measure, and wonder ing why his hand had been so unsteady, he rang the bell for Thomas and ordered him to take away the fragments and wipe the whiskey from the hearth. Then he seated himself once more till it was done. And all the time those eyes, so sad and reproachful now, were looking through and through him.
    "Thomas!" he spoke sharply, and the man came about face suddenly with the broom an d dustpan in hand on which glit tered the crystals of delicate cutting. "Where is the rest of that—that stuff?"
    Thomas understood. He swung open the little door at the side of the chimney. "Right here at hand, sir! Shall I pour you out some, sir?" he said, as he lifted the demijohn.
    John Stanley's entire face flushed with shame. His impulse was severely to rebuke the impertinence, nay the insult, of the servant to one who had always been known as a temperance man. But he reflected that the servant was a stranger to his ways, and that he himself had perhaps given the man reason to think that it would be acceptable by the very fact that he had these things among his personal effects. Then too , his eyes had caught the look of the Master as he raised them to answer, and he could not speak that harsh word quite in that tone with Jesus looking at him.
    He wai ted to clear his throat, and an swered in a quieter tone, though still severely: "No; you may take it out and throw it away. I never use it."
    "Yes, sir," answered Thomas impassive ly; but h e marveled. Nevertheless he for gave his master, and took the demijohn to his own room. He was willing to be humble enough to have it thrown away on him. But as h e passed the servant's piazza, the cook who sat resting from her day's labors there and planning for the morrow's menu, heard him mutter:
    "As sure as I live, it's the pictu r e . It's got some kind o' a spell."

Chapter Four
     
    AFTER Thomas had left the room with the demijohn, his master seemed relieved. He began to walk up and down his room and hum an air from the German opera. He wanted to forget the unpleasant occur rence. After all, he was