Part 8 (1/2)

It was two days later that Yuan Ki came to consciousness. He was puzzled quite a little until he figured out that he was in the hospital bed again, and it was in the early dawn of the morning. There seemed to be n.o.body else in the room. Yuan Ki could see through the open door, across the hallway, into the large reception room opposite.

There was a long, strange-shaped, box-like thing, with some candles burning near by. Curiosity getting the better of him, Yuan Ki got up and crept across the hall. Coming close to the casket, he looked through the gla.s.s cover--and there lay the teacher.

Just then a hand was laid on Yuan Ki's shoulder, and the nurse hustled him back to bed, scolding him for his imprudence. ”But,” said Yuan Ki, ”the teacher--how did he die?”

”Lie still,” said the nurse, ”and I will tell you. When you fell into the water, teacher jumped from that high window to the ground. It seemed to sprain his ankle, or something, for he limped badly as he made his way to the water. He reached you just as you went down the last time, and bore you up. A man ran out on the deck with a boat-hook and reached for you both. He caught your sleeve and hauled you in, but the current carried teacher out of reach, and then we saw him sink. He was an expert swimmer, but the sprain must have caused him to lose consciousness.”

Yuan Ki's next letter to his father read in part like this: ”My father, my heart is broken, for I shall not see your face again. I know that what I shall tell you means that your hopes for me will be crushed and that you will disinherit me; but, oh, my father, I have learned now what is the love of Christ. Teacher had tried to tell us about his Christ, who said: 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.'

”And now, my father, there is but one thing for me to do, and that is, myself, to take the place which this n.o.ble servant of his Master has left vacant--his Master--now my Master, too, for He has accepted me and I have accepted Him. I have resolved to train to go to my countrymen and tell them of this wonderful G.o.d, the like of whom there is none other.”

Jesus gave _all_ of Himself for us. We cannot give less than _all_ of ourselves for Him.

_Read Mark 15:16-47._

XXI

READY!

Say, fellows, once in my life--and only once--I had a chance to shoot a deer. It was in the Tennessee mountains. A party of us boys travelled over a rough mountain road all of two days before reaching the hunting grounds. About daylight of the third day each one of us was given a ”stand,” that is, stationed at a point where the game would likely pa.s.s when started by the hounds. The seasoned old guide cautioned us to keep still and watch. ”One thing sartin,” said he, ”deer is in thar, an' when they comes out they comes this a-way.”

I had never been deer hunting before. I have never been since. It was my one opportunity, and as the party left me, to distribute themselves at other points of vantage along the ”run,” I took up my stand under considerable excitement. In an hour I heard the dogs far in the distance. They were evidently running. That meant the game was running, too,--how many and in what direction I could only guess.

Every nerve and muscle was tense with expectation. The music of the hounds grew fainter. ”Evidently circling again,” I mused. I was getting to be quite a huntsman, and chuckled at how David Crocketty my observations were.

Another hour I waited. A squirrel came out on a limb, and with its antics and barking helped me pa.s.s the time. A while I watched it, now and then dropping my eyes to a level for the expected deer. Suddenly, as I dropped my eyes, the most thrilling sight confronted them. They nearly popped out--my eyes. There, within fifty feet of me, stood a magnificent buck.

I shall never forget the picture. His beautiful, keen limbs slightly quivering, his sleek sides glistening in the slanting rays of the sun as they throbbed in and out with his rapid panting. His head held high, the antlers looked like a picture.

All this had happened in less than five seconds. I only had to veer my gun two inches. My hand was on the trigger, and with a perfect ”bead”

on his left shoulder--right where the old guide had said the night before was the spot to aim for.

Snap! left barrel.

Snap! right barrel.

Off like the wind, Mr. Buck!

Fellows, I have never been sicker than I was at that moment, but once.

My sickest was in the next moment, when I unbreached my gun and found _there was no sh.e.l.l in either barrel_!

Foolish?

You can call it any name you please and I won't defend it. Think of me at the camp-fire that night, fellows.