He left the train soon
after, and I am glad to say I've never seen him since. Song after song
followed, and I soon had other voices to help me. When the song
service ended, an old man came to me, put out his hand, and said, "Sir,
I owe you thanks and a confession."
"Thanks for what?"
"Thanks for rebuking that blasphemer."
"Don't thank me for that, but give thanks to my Master. I try to stand
up for Him wherever I am. What about the confession?"
"I am in my eighty-third year. I have been a preacher of the Gospel
for over sixty years. When I heard that man swearing so, I wanted to
rebuke him. I rose from my seat two or three times, to do so, but my
courage failed. I have not much longer to live, but never again will I
refuse to show my colors anywhere."
HER DANGER SIGNAL.
BY EMMA C. HEWITT.
She did--I am sorry to record it, but she did--Letty Bascombe salted
her pie-crust with a great, big tear.
Not that she had none of the other salt, nor that she intended to do
it, but, all of a sudden, a big tear, oh, as big as the end of your
thumb, if you are a little, little girl, ran zigzag across her cheek
down to her chin, and, before she could wipe it off, a sudden, sharp
sob took her unawares and, plump, right into the pastry, went this big
fat tear.
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