ight face,
and he hung upon her words.

"Well, they decided that Jesus should come down here and live, and be
perfectly good, so He would not deserve any punishment, and then God
would allow Him to receive the punishment anyhow, and the rest of us
could go free. That would cover the law. See? Punishing Him when He
deserved no punishment. Then they could forgive us heathens that didn't
deserve it. Do you get that?" She looked at him anxiously. "It all
hinges on that, you know. I'm not a preacher myself, but that's the
idea. So Jesus was crucified, and then God said, 'There He is! Look on
Him, believe in Him, worship Him, and in His name you stand O. K.' See?
That means, if we give Him the chance, God'll let Jesus take our share
of the punishment. So we've just got to let go, and say, 'All right,
here I am. I believe it, I give up, I know I don't amount to a hill of
beans--and you can say it very honestly--but if you want me, and will
call it square, God knows I'm willing.' And there you are."

"Won't I drink any more?"

"No, not if you let go hard enough. I mean," she caught herself up
quickly, "I mean if you let clear go and turn the job over to God. But
you're not to think you can keep decent by yourself, for you can't--it's
not born in you, and something else is--just let go, and stay let go.
After that, it's God's job, and unless you stick in and try to manage
yourself, He'll see you through."

"All right, I'll do it."

Carol gasped. She opened her lips a few times, and swallowed hard. She
didn't know what to do next. Wildly she racked her brain for the next
step in this vital performance.

"I--think we ought to pray," she said feebly.

"All right, we'll pray." He rolled curiously off the stick of wood, and
fell, as if by instinct, into the attitude of prayer.

Carol gazed about her helplessly. But true to her training, she knelt
beside him. Then came silence.

"I--well, I'll pray," she said with grim determination. "Dear Father in
Heaven," she began weakly, and then she forgot her timidity and her
fear, and realized only that this was a crisis in the life of the
drunken man.

"Oh, God, he'll do it. He'll let go, and turn it over to you. He isn't
worth anything, God, none of us are, but You can handle him, for You've
had worse jobs than this, though it doesn't seem possible. You'll help
him, God, and love him, and show him how, for he hasn't the faintest
idea what to do next, and neither have I. But You