No,” said the lawyer, “I shan’t press your claim against that
man. You can get someone else to take the case, or you can withdraw it — do as
you please. There may be some money in it, but it would come from the sale of
the little house the man occupies and calls home. I want nothing to do with this
case.”
“I suppose the old fellow begged to be let off?”
“Well — yes, he did.”
“And you?”
“I didn’t speak a word to him.”
“Oh, he did all the talking, did he? What did you do?”
“I believe I shed a few tears; he didn’t speak a word to
me.”
“Well, may I respectfully inquire whom he did address in your
hearing?”
“Almighty God. But not for my benefit in the least. You see”
— the lawyer crossed his right foot over his left knee, and began stroking his
lower leg, as if to help state his case concisely — “you see, I found the
little house easily enough, and knocked on the outer door, which stood ajar,
but nobody heard me; so I stepped into the little hall, and saw through the crack
of another door just as cozy a sitting room as there ever was.
“There on the bed, with her silver head resting high on
the pillows, was an old lady. I was on the point of knocking when she said,
“Come, Father, now begin; I’m all ready.” Beside her, on his knees, was an old,
white-haired man. He began to pray. First, he reminded God that they were still
his submissive children, Mother and he, and no matter what he saw fit to bring upon
them, they wouldn’t rebel at his will. Of course, it was going to be very hard
for them to go out homeless in their old age, with poor Mother so sick and
helpless, but they’d been through hard times before. He reminded God how
different it might have been if only one of their boys had been spared them;
then his voice kind of broke, and a thin white hand stole from under the
coverlet and gently stroked his snowy hair. He went on to repeat that nothing
could be so sharp again as parting with those three sons — unless Mother and he
should be separated. But at last he began to comfort himself with the fact that
the dear Lord knew it was through no fault of his own that Mother and he were
threatened with the loss of their little home, which meant beggary and the
poorhouse, a place they prayed to be delivered from entering if it would be
consistent with God’s will. Then he quoted a multitude of promises concerning
the safety of those who put their trust in the Lord. Yes, I should say he begged hard; in fact, it
was the most thrilling plea I ever heard! At last, he prayed for God’s blessing
on those who were about to demand justice.” The lawyer stroked his lower limb
in silence for a moment or two, then continued, more slowly than before:
“And I believe I’d rather go to the poorhouse myself,
tonight, than to stain my heart and hands with the blood of such a prosecution
as that.”
“You are afraid to defeat the old man’s prayer?” queried
the client.
“Bless your soul, man, you couldn’t defeat it!” said the
lawyer. “It doesn’t admit of defeat! He left it all subject to the will of God;
but he left no doubt as to his own wishes in the matter. He claimed that we
were told to make known our desires unto God. You know, I was taught that kind
of thing in my childhood; and why I was sent to hear that prayer, I’m
sure I don’t know; but I hand the case over.”
“I wish,” said the client, twisting uneasily, “you hadn’t
told me about the old fellow’s prayer, because I want the money the place will
bring. But I was taught the Bible all straight enough when I was a youngster,
and I’d hate to oppose such an appeal as that one. I wish you hadn’t heard a
word of it, and perhaps you shouldn’t listen to petitions not intended for your
own ears.”
“My dear fellow,” he said, “you’re wrong again; it was intended
for my ears, and yours too, and God Almighty intended it. My mother used to
sing about God’s moving in a mysterious way, I remember.”
“Well, my mother used to sing it, too,” said the
claimant, as he twisted his claim papers in his hands. “You can call in the morning,
and tell them the claim has been met.”
“In a mysterious way,” added the lawyer, smiling.
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