A Beautiful Possibility. Edith Ferguson Black
knees are too pretty for a scar. Go into the vet room, Rege, and bring me out a roll of bandage."
"Hulloa! That will give me away to the governor with a vengeance! What are you going to bandage him for?"
"He is badly strained, and if I don't his legs will be all puffed by the morning. It will be lucky if it is nothing worse. He looks to me as if he was in for a touch of distemper, but I'll give him a powder and perhaps we can stave it off."
Reginald brought the bandage and then stood moodily striking at a beetle with his riding whip. He was turning away when a hand with a grip of steel was laid on his shoulder and he was forced back to where the beetle lay, a shapeless mass of quivering agony, while a low stern voice exclaimed—
"Finish your work! Even the cannibals do that."
Reginald wrenched himself free. "Pshaw!" he said contemptuously, "it's only a beetle." But he did as he was told.
Then he stood silently watching as with swift skilfulness John swathed the horse's limbs in flannel. "I guess Sultan misses you, John. Over at the college livery their fingers are all thumbs."
"Poor Sultan!" was all John's answer, as he led the horse into a large paddock thickly strewn with fresh straw.
A night full of stars—silent and sweet. John Randolph leaned on the broad gate which opened into the green road where he had lingered in the afternoon. The thoughts which surged through his brain made sleep impossible, and so, lighting his bull's-eye, he had gone to the stables to see how Sultan was faring, and then wandered on under the mystery of the stars.
The night was warm. A breeze heavy with perfume lifted the hair from his brow. He heard the low breathing of the cattle as they dozed in the fields on either side, and the soft whirr of downy plumage as the great owl which had built its nest among the eaves of the new barn flew past him. Suddenly a warm nose was thrust against his shoulder and, with the assurance of a spoilt beauty, the cow laid her head upon his arm. He lifted his other hand and stroked it gently.
"Hah, Primrose! Are you awake, old lady? What are your views of life now, Prim? Do the shadows make it seem more weird and grand, or does midnight lose its awesomeness when one is upon four legs?"
He looked away to where the stars were throbbing with tender light, crimson and green and gold, and the words of the book which he had been studying every leisure moment for the past six weeks swept across his mental vision.
"'I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.'
"'The light of life,'" he repeated slowly. "Why, to most people life seems all darkness! What is 'the light of life'?"
Still other words came stealing to his memory. 'I am the way, the truth, and the life, no one cometh unto the Father, but by me.' 'Except ye turn, and become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.' 'This is life eternal, that they should know thee the only true God, and him whom thou didst send, even Jesus.'
A great light flooded John Randolph's soul.
"'I' and 'me,'" he whispered. "Why, it is a personality. It is Jesus himself! He is the way to the kingdom, the truth of the kingdom and the life of it. The kingdom of heaven, not far away in space, but set up here and now in the hearts of men who live the life hid with Christ in God. I see it all! Jesus Christ is the light of the life which God gives us through his Son."
He stretched his hands up towards the glistening sky.
"Jesus Christ," he cried eagerly, "come into my life and make it light. I take thee for my Master, my Friend. I give myself away to thee. I will follow wherever thou dost lead. Jesus Christ, help me to grow like thee!"
The hush of a great peace fell upon his soul, while through the listening night an angel stooped and traced upon his brow the kingly motto, 'Ich Dien.'
CHAPTER V.
"Don, Don, me's tumin'," and the baby of the farm, a little child with sunny curls and laughing eyes, ran past the great barns of Hollywood.
John Randolph was swinging along the green road with a bridle over his arm, whistling softly. He turned as the childish voice was borne to him on the breeze. "All right, Nansie, wait for me at the gate." Then he sprang over the fence and crossed the field to where a group of horses were feeding.
The child climbed up on the gate beside a saddle which John had placed there and waited patiently. He soon came back, leading a magnificent bay horse, and began to adjust the saddle.
"Now, Nan, I'll give you a ride to the house. Can't go any further to-day, for I have to cross the river."
The child shook her head confidently. "Me 'll go too, Don."
"I'm afraid not, Nan. The river is so deep, we'll have to swim for it.
That is why I chose Neptune, you see."
"Me's not 'fraid, wiv 'oo, Don."
"Better wait, Baby, till the river is low. Well, come along then," as the wily schemer drew down her pretty lips into the aggrieved curve which always conquered his big, soft heart. She clapped her hands with glee, as he lifted her in front of him and started Neptune into a brisk trot, and made a bridle for herself out of the horse's silky mane.
"Gee, gee, Nepshun. Nan loves you, dear."
When they reached the fording place John's face grew grave. The river had risen during the night and was rushing along with turbulent strength. There was no house within five miles. His business was imperative. He dared not leave the child until he came back. Crouching upon the saddle, he clasped one arm about her while he twisted his other hand firmly in and out of the horse's mane.
"Are you afraid, Nansie?"
She twined her arms more tightly about his neck until the sunny curls brushed his cheek.
"Me'll do anywhere, wiv 'oo, Don."
Just as the gallant horse reached the opposite bank Reginald galloped down to the ford on his way home for Sunday.
"Upon my word, John, you're a perfect slave to that youngster! What mad thing will you be doing next, I wonder?"
"The next thing will be to go back again," said John with a smile, while Nan clung fast to his neck and peeped shyly through her curls at her brother.
"Where are you off to?"
"Henderson's."
Reginald turned his horse's head. "I might as well go along. A man's a fool to ride alone when he can have company."
John gave him a swift, comprehensive glance.
"How are things going, Rege? You're not looking very fit."
Reginald yawned and drew his hand across his heavy eyes. "Oh, all right.
Oyster suppers and that sort of thing are apt to make a fellow drowsy."
"Don't go too fast, Rege."
"Why not?" said Reginald carelessly. "It suits the governor, and that book you're so fond of says children should obey their parents."
* * * * *
"I declare, John, you're a regular algebraic puzzle!" he exclaimed later in the day, as he stood beside John in the carpenter's shop, watching the curling strips of wood which his plane was tossing off with sweeping strokes. "You put all there is of you into everything you do. You take as much pains over a plough handle as you would over a buggy!"
"Why not? God takes as much pains with a humming-bird as an elephant.
Mere size doesn't count."
"Nan loves you, Reggie," and a tiny hand was slipped shyly into her brother's.
"All