XXI. To Whom He Forgave Most - Page 2

found no one for the service at Bull Crossing next day. There was still a slight hope that one of the officials of the congregation would consent to be a stop-gap for the day.

"I guess I'll have to take that service myself, Margaret," said Barney laughingly. "Wouldn't the crowd stare? They'd hear the sermon of their lives."

"It would be a good sermon, Barney," replied Margaret quietly. "And why should you not say something to the men?"

"Nonsense, Margaret!" cried Barney impatiently. "You know the thing is utterly absurd. What sort of man am I to preach? A gambler, a swearer, and generally bad. They all know me."

"They know only a part of you, Barney," said Margaret gently. "God knows all of you, and whatever you have been you are no gambler today, and you are not a bad man."

"No," replied Barney slowly, "I am no gambler, nor will I ever be again. But I have been a hard, bad man. For three years I carried hate in my heart. I could not forgive and didn't want to be forgiven. And that, I believe, was the cause of all my badness. But--somehow--I don't deserve it--but I've been awfully well treated. I deserved hell, but I've got a promise of heaven. And I'd be glad to do something for--" He paused abruptly.

"There, you've got your sermon, Barney," said Margaret.

"What do you mean?"

"'Forgive and ye shall be forgiven.'"

"It's the sermon someone wants to preach to me, but it's not for me to preach. The thing is preposterous. I'll get one of those fellows at the Crossing to take the meeting."

On Saturday evening Dick again reverted to the subject.

"I'm not anxious, Barney," he said, "but who's going to take the meeting to-morrow night at Bull Crossing?"

"Now, look here," said Barney, "Monday morning you'll hear all about it. Meantime, don't ask questions. Margaret and I are responsible, and that ought to be enough. You never knew her to fail."

"No, nor you, Barney," said Dick, sinking back with a sigh of satisfaction. "I know it will be all right. Are you going down to-morrow evening?" he inquired, turning to Margaret.

"I?" exclaimed Margaret. "What would I do?"

"Of course you are going. It will do you a lot of good," said Barney. "You may have to preach yourself or hold my coat while I go in."

A sudden gleam of joy in the eyes, a flush of red upon the cheek, and the quick following pallor told Dick the thoughts that rushed through Margaret's heart.

"Yes," said Dick gravely, "you will go down, too, Margaret. It will do you good, and I don't need you here."

Many anxious days had Barney passed in his life,