whether he could find a voice to say anything. For at morning worship,
the father had quite broken down, and the children had been awed and
startled by the sight of his sudden tears. All day long David had
thought about it, and sitting there beside him his heart had filled full
of love and reverent sympathy, which he never could have spoken, even if
it had come into his mind to try. But when his father asked him that
question, he answered, after a little pause:

"Not the fighting, papa, and not the marching. I think perhaps the very
hardest thing would be to stand aside and wait, while the battle is
going on."

"Ay, lad! you are right there," said his father, with a sigh. "Though
why you should look on it in that way, I do not quite see."

"I was thinking of you, papa," said David, very softly; and in a little
he added: "This has been a very sad day to you, papa."

"And I have not been giving you a lesson of trust and cheerful
obedience, I am afraid. Yes, this has been a sad, silent day, Davie,
lad. But the worst is over. I trust the worst is over now."

David answered nothing to this, but came closer, and leaned over the arm
of the sofa on which his father lay, and by and by his father said:

"My boy, it is a grand thing to be a soldier of Jesus Christ, willing
and obedient. And whether it is marching or fighting, or only waiting,
our Commander cannot make a mistake. It ought to content us to know
that, Davie, lad."

"Yes, papa," said David.

"Yes," added his father, in a little. "It is a wonderful thing to
belong to the great army of the Lord. There is nothing else worth a
thought in comparison with that. It is to fight for Right against
Wrong, for Christ and the souls of men, against the Devil--with the
world for a battle ground, with weapons `mighty through God to the
pulling down of strongholds'--under a Leader Divine, invincible, and
with victory sure. What is there beyond this? What is there besides?"

He was silent, but David said nothing, and in a little while he went on
again:

"But we are poor creatures, Davie, for all that. We grow weary with our
marching; turned aside from our chosen paths, we stumble and are
dismayed, as though defeat had overtaken us; we sit athirst beside our
broken cisterns, and sicken in prisons of our own making, believing
ourselves forgotten. And all the time, our Leader, looking on, has
patience with us--loves us even, holds us up, and leads us safe thro