The Pastor's Son.

by William W. Walter.

PREFACE

My sole reason for writing this book and placing it before the public is to call the public's attention to _another book_, wherein is contained the Christ truth, the understanding of which will free you from all your troubles.

If in sin, it shows the way out; if sick, it will heal you; if grief-stricken, it will mend your broken heart; if in poverty, it will give you plenty. I speak from experience, having been sick for more than seven years, at the edge of the grave, reduced to poverty, and all earthly hope gone. I was rescued from this inferno on earth, my health restored, my supply sufficient, my joy complete; surely I can say, my cup of happiness runneth over. Truly that book sayeth--"Come all ye that are heavy laden and I will give you rest."

CHAPTER I

THANKSGIVING MORNING

"What a beautiful Thanksgiving morning this is," said the Rev. James A. Williams to his son Walter, as he looked out of the dining-room window. "There isn't a cloud in the sky, and this soft, balmy breeze from the south makes one almost believe that it is a June morning instead of the 30th of November. I know there will be a large attendance at church this morning, which will please me very much, as I have prepared an excellent sermon, and feel certain that the congregation will enjoy it."

He glanced at his son as he finished speaking, and some of the joy and cheerfulness that had shown in his eyes faded away, for he saw no return of his joy and happiness on his child's face; all that was written there was sorrow, pain, and feebleness.

His son, who was nearly seventeen, had always been sickly and feeble since birth; the best physicians had been employed, change of climate had been tried, and everything else that promised relief, but of no avail. The best specialists had been consulted, but they gave little hope that hereditary consumption could be cured, for the minister's wife had been similarly afflicted for many years.

The Rev. Williams thought silently for a few moments, then tried to regain his cheerfulness by changing the subject to something that might interest his son; so he said, "Well, wife, I suppose that turkey Deacon Phillips gave us will be done to perfection by dinner time; I am beginning to feel hungry already, just from thinking of it and it is two hours to dinner time yet."

Lillian his wife, looked up from her work with a careworn expression on her face, and said, "Yes, it is a fine large turkey." His wife always looked worn-out and tired, for not being strong and still compelled to do all the housework, it fatigued her very much.

It had not always been this way, for the Rev. Williams was a man of ability, his congregation large, and his salary ample under ordinary circ.u.mstances, but the constant drain of physicians' bills, and the great expense of sending mother and son to a warm climate each fall, as the rigors of the northern winters were considered too hard for the two invalids to bear, had reduced them almost to poverty; consequently the expense of a maidservant had long since been dispensed with.

Rev. Williams now turned to go to his study, and as he was turning, said, "I know that I will do justice to that turkey, after delivering my long sermon, and I am very thankful to Deacon Phillips, and to G.o.d, for having given it to us."

There was silence for a few moments after the father left the room; then Mrs. Williams said: "Walter, dear, you had better get ready for church; I will soon have this turkey so I can leave it, then I will get ready and we will both go to church, there to give thanks to G.o.d."

Walter turned to his mother saying, "What have we to be thankful for, mother?"

His mother looked up, somewhat startled, and answered, "Why for everything that G.o.d gave us." "Everything, mother?" asked Walter.

"Yes dear, everything."

"Oh, mother, I don't see how I am going to do that, father told me that G.o.d gave me this sickness, and I don't see how I can feel thankful to Him for making me suffer."

The mother anxiously looked at her son, then said, "Remember Walter, Jesus Christ, the only Son of G.o.d, also suffered."

"Yes, I know, but it was not G.o.d that made Him suffer, it was the Pharisees; but father said it was G.o.d gave me this sickness and that I must bear it with love and patience, which I have tried to do, but I have never been able to understand why a good and loving G.o.d should care to see me suffer."

"I am sure I cannot tell," said his mother, "but it must be for some good purpose; we will ask your father to explain some time. Now hurry and get ready."

A few minutes later they both walked to the church, which was only a short distance away, and entered its wide-open doors.

CHAPTER II

THE TURKEY DINNER

"Well wife, what did you think of my sermon?" asked the pastor as he sat down to enjoy the turkey dinner.

"I think it was the best sermon you ever delivered, James," answered his wife, quietly.

"I think so, too," said James, "and what's more, it ought to make every person that heard it feel very thankful to G.o.d, for all He has given them," then looking around the room he asked, "Where is Walter?"

"I don't know," said his wife, "he became so nervous and tired, that he left just before the last hymn was sung. I suppose he went up to his room, you had better call him to dinner."

"I will," answered the pastor, and going to the hall door, he called aloud, "Walter, dinner is ready."

"All right father, I will be down in a minute," came back the answer in a rather faint voice. The pastor turned to his wife and asked, "Do you think that last medicine is doing him any more good than the others we have tried?"

His wife raised her sad face to his, and replied, "No, James, I don't think it is helping him, for he seems to get weaker and more nervous all the time. I feel that he is losing ground even more rapidly than I am."

Here Walter entered the room, his face more flushed than usual, and his father's watchful eye took note of it, but he spoke up cheerfully, "Just look at that turkey, Walter, isn't it a fine one? See how nice and evenly it is browned, and the oyster dressing, I'll bet it's fit for a king."

Walter merely glanced at the turkey, then seated himself beside his mother.

After the pastor had said grace, he picked up the carving knife and said, "Now, son, just tell me what piece you like best and I will have it carved out for you before you can say, Jack Robinson."

"You are very kind, father, but I don't believe I care for any turkey, I am not feeling very well," answered Walter.

"Just try a little, Walter," said the mother coaxingly, "I know it must be very tender and nice, for Deacon Phillips said it was a young turkey."

"Yes, Walter," said his father, "hand me your plate, and I will give you a little of the dark and a little of the light meat, with some of this delicious dressing."

The boy listlessly handed over his plate without any more ado, his father put onto it a liberal piece of each kind of meat and some dressing, then handed it back, with the remark, "Eat all you can son, for it will make you strong." Then he added, "Now wife, it's your turn, I know you like the dark meat the best," and while he was talking he carved a nice piece of the turkey and laid it on her plate, and then said, "Now father, it is your turn, and I know your failing to be the leg," and suiting the action to the word, he carved for himself the leg.

Then, addressing his son once more, he asked, "How did you like the sermon, Walter?"

"I thought it was very fine, father, and as I looked over the congregation, I could see many heads nodding their approval of your words telling them they ought to be thankful, and I tried, oh, so hard, to be thankful, but I couldn't, for something seemed to say, you have nothing to be thankful for, G.o.d gave you this sickness as a punishment.

I tried to think what I had done to merit this punishment, but found it could not have been anything I had done, as I remembered that you had said I always had been sick even when a little child, and then--"

"Tut, tut, child, now don't get excited," said the pastor. "We all know that your punishment is not for anything you may have done, but you are probably suffering for the sins of others, the same as Jesus did; why, Walter, just think, Jesus Christ died for all our sins."

"For my sins, father?" asked the boy.

"Yes, Walter, all our sins."

"But father, I don't see how that could be. We weren't any of us living at that time, and if we sinned, it must have been since then, and Jesus could not die for sins that had not been committed."