CHAPTER V.

THE STORM IN THE NIGHT.

I HEARD no more of the sermon; I was trembling from head to foot.

"Are you cold, Peter?" Salome said to me, as we were coming out. "You do shake so!"

"You would be left behind." Those words were ringing in my ears; I could not forget them. God's Holy Spirit whispered them to me over and over again.

"What is the matter with Peter?" said mother at tea.

"He has lost his tongue, I think," said James.

But I made no answer. I wondered how soon Jesus would come. The clergyman had said He might come at any time; perhaps it would be that very night!

I went to bed as early as possible, for I wanted to be alone. The heat, which had been very great during the day, seemed to increase as night came on. I opened the window before I went to bed; all was quite still outside, there was not a breath of air, and very few people were about in the street.

I got into bed; but for a long time I could not sleep. The one terrible thought, that I should be left behind, kept me awake, and the stolen shilling seemed like a heavy weight pressing on my heart. At last, after tossing about for a long time, I fell into a troubled sleep.

I was wakened suddenly by a loud crashing noise, and I thought at first that the roof was falling on our heads. I sat up in bed in great alarm, and at that moment there came a bright flash of light, which showed me everything in the room quite clearly. Salome was sitting up in her cot, and she called out:

"Peter, did you see it? Just as he told us at church! I thought Jesus would come to-night! How soon will the angels come for us, Peter?"

But now came another long peal of thunder, and Salome trembled.

"Is that God talking, Peter?" she whispered, in a very solemn voice.

But I was too frightened to answer her. "One shall be taken, and another left," I said to myself. "Salome taken—Peter left!"

"Oh, Salome," I said at last, as I burst into tears, "it's only a thunderstorm, I think; but if it was Jesus coming in the sky, Salome, you would be taken, and I should be left!"

"Oh! No, no," said Salome; "you mustn't be left, Peter; they must take you, too!" And she clung to me more and more tightly, as flash after flash and peal after peal made us start and tremble.

But at length it was all over, and there came a downpour of rain, which cooled the hot air, and fell on the thirsty garden and the dusty street.

"Jesus hasn't come to-night, Salome," I said; "it's only a thunderstorm."

"I am glad He hasn't come, Peter," Salome said, "if you would be left behind."

And then she laid her tired head on the pillow, and was soon fast asleep again.

But there was no more sleep for me that night. I could not rest now until I knew that my sin was taken away. I got out of bed when all the others had fallen asleep, and prayed to God to forgive me, for the sake of the Lord Jesus. I asked Him to wash each black mark of sin off my soul, and especially that sin of a year ago, which now troubled me so much.

I prayed very earnestly, and I knew that God was listening, and was answering my prayer. Now I felt I could not be happy till I had confessed my theft to my father.

I waited anxiously till it was light, and I heard him getting up. Father was always downstairs before any of us. I got out of bed, and taking, a shilling from my pocket, for I had more pocket-money than I had a year ago, I slipped quietly downstairs after him. He started when he turned round and saw me following him into the shop.

"Well?" he said, as he looked at me.

"Father," I began, "I want to tell you something."

He did not speak, but waited for me to go on.

"Do you remember spinning money with Salome on her last birthday, father?"

He nodded his head for answer.

I told him then how I had taken the shilling, what a dreadful temptation it had been to me, because I wanted so much to make up the missing shilling for the master's bill, but did not like to ask him to give me one. But I told him, too, that I saw how wrong I had been, that I had asked God to forgive me, and that I hoped he would forgive me, too, and would take the shilling I had brought for him, and put it in the till in the place of the one I had stolen.

Father stood looking at me for a long time without speaking a word. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, and said:

"Spoken like a man, Peter. Keep out of crooked paths, my lad."

Then he left me to take down the shutters, and I crept upstairs again, feeling much happier than I had done before.

It was that very Monday morning, that, as I came in from Betson's to get my dinner, I found a man whom I had never seen before talking to my father in the shop. He was a hearty man, stout and rosy, and had a pleasant, cheerful way of speaking, which had the same effect on me as a fresh, bracing wind has; it stirred me up, and made me feel in good spirits. I heard his cheerful voice before I came in at the shop door, for he spoke very loudly. He was saying to my father:

"Well, it's a good chance, this is—and I'm telling you the truth when I says so—and the missus and me will look after him, we will; so you'd better let him come."

I was passing through the shop, not daring to stay without leave, though I longed to know what all this was about, when, as I was going behind the counter, my father beckoned to me to stay, and then pointed at me, and looked at the hearty man.

The hearty man said at once, "Ah! That's him, is it? Well, he's a likely lad, he is; would you call him strong now?"

My father nodded.

"Fond of work?" asked the hearty man.

My father nodded again.

"Does what he's told?" asked the hearty man.

My father nodded a third time.

"How old is he?" asked the man.

A nod would not do this time, so my father was obliged to say the single word "Fifteen."

"All right!" said the hearty man. "Well, I tell you it's a good thing for him, this is; a capital chance; it is indeed!"

But my father did not speak; it really seemed a punishment to him to have to open his lips.

The hearty man grew impatient with him.

"Come now, John," he said at last, "you and me has known each other a many years now, and you're a silent man, you are. But I'm in a particular hurry this morning, so if your tongue can be got to speak anyways, by any extra screw up, or by any means whatsoever, as you may be accustomed to use on them rare occasions when it does do you a service, please to let a fellow know what your intentions in this same matter may be."

To which my father answered in the few words, "When shall he come?"

"Well, now," said the hearty man, "we're getting to the point, we are; let him come on Monday!"

To which my father answered by a mournful shake of the head, and the one word "Clothes."

"Oh, never bother your head about clothes," said the man, "he'll do well enough. We'll rig him up when he gets there, we will; so I'll look for the lad turning up at our place on Monday without fail. And now good-day to you, John, for I must be off!"

My father made a mighty effort as he was going, and screwed up his tongue with such effect that it spoke the three words, "Thank you, Bagot," as the hearty man went out at the door.

Where I was going on Monday, or what I was going to be, I had not the remotest idea, nor did my father seem inclined to tell me, for, as soon as the man was gone, he took up his ledger, and waved me off with his hand, and I was obliged to hurry away to my dinner.

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