Kankakee Valley Post, Volume 10, Number 30, DeMotte, Jasper County, 13 June 1940 — Page 2

IMPROVED UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL SUNDA y CHOOL Lesson

By HAROLD L. LUNDQUIST. D. D.

D««n of The Moody Btblo Institute of Chicago. (Ralaascd by Waatarn Newspaper Union.)

Lesson for June 16 Lesson subjects and Scripture text* selected and copyrighted by International Council of Religious Education; used by permission. HAGGAI URGES THE BUILDING OF GOD’S HOUSE 4- • —- ' LESSON TEXT—Haggai 1:2-l2. GOLDEN TEXT—And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works: not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some Is. —Hebrews 10:24. 25. Religious work—or, more correctly stated, Christian work— is a difficult and discouraging task, except for the grace and blessing of God. Not only does the Christian worker have to struggle against that archenemy of God and of the souls of men, Satan himself, but he must overcome the deadly indifference and carelessness of men both outside and inside the Church. Then, as if that were not enough, he finds another enemy, the discouragement of his own heart. Haggai ministered to the Jews who had returned from captivity and who had begun to rebuild the temple. Opposition had developed before they had made more than a beginning, and they at once gave up and turned their interest to their own affairs and the building of their own homes. God was displeased by this sinfulness on their part, and brought judgment upon them through a prolonged drouth. Haggai was called to awaken their conscience and to encourage them to action. I. Consider Your Ways (w. 2-6. MD. It was not necessary for the prophet to work up any eloquent plea to stir the conscience of the people. He had only to point' to their own ways. They were thus faced with three reproving facts. 1. Indifference (v. 2). They were negligent and indifferent, saying the time had not come to build. The same kind of folk today are very sure that the congregation simply cannot afford to keep up preaching services, or heat and light the for Sunday School. 2. Selfishness (v. 4). They built for themselves ceiled houses and lived in luxury, while God’s house lay waste. One is reminded of our own communities, which have money for every conceivable comfort and convenience, but only a few niggardly pennies for God’s work. 3. Loss (vv. 6, 9-11). Being stingy toward God is a losing business. He has only to withhold His blessing and we will find ourselves destitute. That is true in the physical realm and is even more true in the spiritual life. Withholding from God will always result in loss (see Prov. 11:24). 11. “Build the House’* (v. 8). God’s work is constructive. He may have to destroy and tear down, but He only takes away the old and undesirable that the new and worthy may be built. Three words stand out here. 1. “Go.” The Lord wants His people to get into action. Haggai was interested in getting things going. Let us follow his example. 2. ‘‘Bring.” We are not to come to the Lord’s service empty handed. Only as He blesses do we have anything to bring, but often we fail to bring even that which He has supplied. 3. “Build.” God’s work is committed to us. We are to be His builders. 111. “The People Obeyed” (v. 12). “Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams” (I Sam. 15:22). God is looking for obedient people, and is ready to bless and use them. The response to Haggai's message came from 1. The Governor. One wonders what progress America would make back to God if its rulers were to lead us in obedience to His commands and in seeking His face in repentance and prayer. Thank God for every truly spiritually minded national leader, and pray that others may yield themselves to the control of the Lord. Then came 2. The High Priest. All too often religious leaders have actually hindered the work of God—and what a hindrance they can be! We read that in Haggan’s time the. high priest .obeyed. Christian leaders, are we too going before our people in unquestioning obedience to God? If not, why should we not begin now? With such leadership, we are not surprised to hear that 3. The People Also Obeyed and Feared God. Many capable Christian workers believe that the youth of America of our day, far from being worse than their fathers, are actually seeking for real spiritual leadership.

False Christs Shall Rise

And then, if any man shall gay to you, Lo, here is Christ; or 10, he is there, believe him not. For false Christs, and false prophets shall rise, and shall shew signs and wonders, to seduce, if it were possible, even the elect—Mark 13: 21, 22.

Speaking the TrUth

I had rather suffer for speaking the truth, than that the truth should suffer for the want of my speaking.

IRISH EYES

Sheila Carscadden. blue-eyed, reddish-haired and 21. loses her job in New York by offering useful but unwelcome suggestions to her boss. Typically feminine, she chooses that time to show her “new” purse—which she bought at a second-hand store, to her cousin, Cecilia Moore. The purse revives memories of a boy she had met the previous summer—a boy whose first name, all she remembered, was Peter. At home that evening, waiting for her. are her mother; Joe. her brother, and Angela, her crippled sister. Joe. too. has lost his job. During the not-so-happy evening Angela finds fifty dollars In a secret pocket In Sheila's purse. They are both happy at the discovery, only to be disheartened when Mrs. Carscadden tells Sheila the money must be returned to the person whose initials and street number are on the purse. Sheila is going to return the money dressed in an ancient outfit. Then, she feels, the owner will reward her liberally. She looks upon the escapade as a lark. She feels different when she enters the magnificent home, for the occupants prove to be the Me Cann family, old friends, now wealthy, of Sheila’s father. And there she sees Peter, her acquaintance of the previous summer! Sheila finds that Peter is Judge Me Cann's son. Both Peter, and his brother Frank, are soon to be married. Frank offers to take her home, and Peter, secretly, places a slip of paper in her hand. The paper is a message, asking her to meet Peter at the library the next day.

CHAPTER IV—Continued — s— mid-morning Sheila was wanted at the telephone. This was a quite unprecedented occurrence. Nobody had ever called Sheila before; it was a custom not encouraged in the office. She went to Miss Me Cartney’s desk with her heart beating fast. It must be Peter.— It was not Peter. It was Frank Me Cann who had called. “Are you doing anything this afternoon, Miss Carscadden?” Sheila was bewildered. Her wits deserted hfcr completely. “I mean—my young lady has an engagement this afternoon,” Frank said in his easy, self-confident way. ‘‘The Cahills are giving Gert and Peter a big blow-out, up the country somewhere, and of course we have to go. But I have several hours free, and thought maybe you and I could go to a movie.” She felt, a few minutes later, that she need not have been so brief in declining. After all, he had meant it well. After all, he was the oldest of the Me Canns, and the Me Canns had suddenly become to Sheila the most important family in the world. But —well, it didn’t matter. Frank Me Cann didn’t matter. What did matter, supremely, was the eternal question: was she going to meet Peter in the library or not? y CHAPTER V Still, she did not intend to go to the library. She couldn't go to the library anyway, because Joe as was usual on Saturdays called for Cecilia, and it was natural that they should all walk out into the cold streets together. Joe took them to the drugstore counter, and they had toasted three-decker sandwiches and coffee. It was then almost half past three o’clock, and Sheila was a long way from the Law Library on Broadway. Then it seemed that Joe wanted to see a man in Brooklyn about a job. Cecilia said she would go, too, and they could stop and see Aunt Teresa. Joe, as always when he was with his girl, looked darkly radiant; Cecilia was as usual composed and quiet under his attentions. At twenty-five minutes of four Sheila found herself alone in the cold, dirty, dark street. Snow was threatened; the sky was ominous and low, the air had a cool, fresh rush. She hesitated; walked a block east. No, she wouldn’t keep this date with Peter! She turned and went resolutely westward, and into the subway hood. She w r as going home. Resolutely, Sheila changed to an express train, was whirled north, under the thundering streets. She got out at One Hundred and Fortyninth Street, as she always had done, mounted to the sidewalk level, loitered at the bakery window. Coffee cakes; Ma loved them. Little chocolate layer cakes with holes in the middle. The girl was sticking tiny clean signs into them: ‘‘Today’s special, 25 cents.” The drug-store clock said three forty-eight. Suddenly, breathlessly, Sheila had turned, had crossed the street to the downtown subway, had plunged in her nickel, and pushed through the turnstile. She took a Broadway and Seventh Avenue train. Instantly she was rushing southward. She was on her way. She would be late. No matter, he would wait. A great relief inundated her heart. Sheila had given in. No use fighting it any longer; she had to see him. The Law Library was on the fifth, and top, floor of a dark old rubberscented building, whose mahoganyboxed elevators tottered on their way up. Everything looked grim and smelled of dust. The closed doors of all the offices they passed were of dull old opaque glass, dimly lettered in chipped black. Peter was not in sight. Sheila stood hesitant, with shame and selfcontempt in her heart. But after a long minute he touched her on the arm; he had come quietly up behind her and was smiling at her. ‘‘Good girl!” he said in approval. And Sheila was instantly sorry that she had come. It was giving in to him; he had knowm that she would; he was taking her for granted. ‘‘You look swell!” he said, evidently surprised at her smartness. Suddenly everything was flat and dull. ‘‘Oh, I was sort of playing a part that night!” she explained. He did not hear her, because he

THE STORY THUS FAR

was leading the way through the room toward a sort of large alcove at the back. In the room were old shelves lined with books, a long table with a.worn black leather cover held in place by nail-heads, two or three old chairs, a library ladder. Besides the books on the shelves there were many more, piled in neat heaps on the floor. “Sit down,” Peter directed her. He lighted a dangling light. “Listen,” he went on, “I had to talk to you. Listen, w'hy didn’t you ever write me?” “Sheila was across the shabby, leather-topped table, her linked hands lying before her. Her heart softened: this was what she had expected. “I didn’t know your name.” “You heard it,” “ Yes,, I heard it that morning when we met each other. But I didn’t remember it.” “I couldn’t find you,” he said. “You had my address.” “Yes, but listen. That paper was nothing but a piece df pulp, when I tried to read it.” A pause. “I wouldn't want you to think that I could talk like that, and just—just be fooling,” Peter said, awkwardly. “But then—then, you see, I got engaged.” “Oh, that was all right!” Sheila assured him, vaguely and politely, and they were silent again. “You see—well, we’re getting married on Tuesday!” Peter explained youthfully. '* “I know.” It seemed to her that all life was a long blank ahead of her. Not that she wanted this particular man, or any man. It was just that everything was dull. “I had to explain it to you. I tried to find you. I couldn’t.” “Oh, that was all right,” she said again, with a little effort. “No, but how’s everything?” he asked, out of a silence. “Fine.” “And that girl who was with you, how’s she?” “Rose? Rose Foley. She’s fine.” Peter watched her intently, across the table, for several long seconds. He was handsome, in his blue suit, with gold arabesques in his darkblue tie. His eyes w-ere blue, too, pale Irish blue, and the pink of his clean-shaven skin in agreeable contrast to the silky dark wing of his black hair. “You see, Gert Keane has lived in our family since we were kids,” he offered. “Sure.” “She’s a—well, she’s a great girl,” Peter said. “It’s all right. But I didn’t think either one of us were—was—were—just fooling,” she said, presently, in her soft, plaintive voice. Peter cleared his throat, “I wasn’t fooling,” he said. “I waited for you, that Tuesday night,” Sheila admitted, in a silence. He winced. “I thought you would.” “I’m glad,” Sheila said, hesitantly, “that you didn’t want to—to throw me down.” The homely phrase expressed her meaning, at least. He caught at it. “I never threw' anyone down in my life!” he said, looking at her seriously, across the table. Somehow*, with the suddenness of a shock, her feeling altered. The words, the tone in which he Said them, awakened her. He was acting—a little. He was enjoying this—just a little. Sheila felt giddy with a revulsion of feeling. She wanted so much to like him—she had dreamed dreams about him for so many months! Now it w r as as if he were disintegrating before her eyes. Her cheeks grew red. She continued to look at Peter steadily, but there was discomfort in her feeling now. She wished she had not come to meet him so impulsively, this man who was to marry another girl in less than a week’s time. “Listen how it all happened,” began Peter. “I go off for a beach picnic with a couple of fellers, don’t I? And I meet a girl—the girl.” Perhaps there was really no change in him. But the change in herself was so sudden and so shocking that Sheila was quite unable to do anything except gravely nod her head. “You’ll say, I walked with you to your cabin, w’hen you changed, after we swam,” Peter, needing no encouragement, was continuing. “Right! I did. But all those cabins looked alike; I couldn’t find it the next day. There were thousands of them! “All right. This girl and I hit it

THE KANKAKEE VALLEY POST

O KATHLEEN NOtHS— WNU SBtVICI

by . . . Kathleen Norris

off,” he began again- with gusto; “we like each other. We have dinner together, and we dance together, and along about midnight I find myself telling her that I love her—get me? And it was true, too! I said to that girl, ‘You and I are going to be married, Sheila. I’m corning to see you Tuesday night, and meet your folks, and just as soon as we get ready to tell them —’ ” “Yes, I know,” Sheila interposed, scarllet-cheeked. “But—” “Well, I come back to town, I try to find my girl, it can’t be done,” Peter summarized it rapidly. “For a while I’m all off my feed; I feel rotten. I get to walking up and down strange streets looking for ner—no good. “Well-, all the time Gertrude’s right in the picture, see? Just like one of my sisters—l mean,” Peter interrupted himself, speaking more naturally, “I mean I’ve always liked Gertrude. And she’s always liked me. It was Mother who tipped me off. We were going to Forest Hills for the tennis, one day. She said, ‘Now, don’t you break Gerß’s heart on her, Peter!’ Gert got as red as a beet. ‘Ah!’ I thought, ‘is that the way the land lies?’ Well, we fixed up everything that day, and everyone was glad. My father got me a job, and everything was fine.” Nq, he had talked himself out of her heart. It had been done quite simp y, in the kindliest possible way. She was not losing him, she had nevei*’ had him; no one had ever had the Peter of her memories, because' there never had been such a Petei. Looking at him, the actual Peter, as she decided this, she was con-

“Yes, I know,” Sheila interposed, scarlet-cheeked.

scious of a sense of light-headed-ness. “You’re terribly pretty,” he said, “and lots of fellers will, fall for you. But I wanted you to know that—well, I’m not the sort that says things—things like 1 said that night —to a girl and doesn’t mean ’em. That was the first thing I thought of the o ;her night at home—when I saw you— i “Well, a lot of fellers wouldn’t have thought of that. They’d have thought it was a Tong time ago; it’s over. Not me. I had to see you. I told Gert and Mother, you know.” “You told them!” She Was startled out of a musing dream that had carried her miles away; she was thinking that she might get Joe a tie like that for Christmas—“l told them I’d met you last summer, and I thought you were fine, and that I’d no idea that things were so bacl with you.” He smiled at Sheila, and she smilec back. She felt humiliated and cheapened somehow; she wished herself miles away, but he must not see it. After all, it was of no consequence, for in another five minutes he and she would part, and they, would not see each other again. “So that’s, the way the whole thing came about!” he said, rising. “How much more he would have thought of me if I’d paid no attention to his note, and hadn’t come here tDday,” Sheila thought, standing, too. Peter reached up, ready to snap off the light, glanced at his wrist. “Gosh, it’s after five!” he exclaimed, shocked into complete naturalness for the moment. “And I was tc go to the tailor for a minute between half past four and five, and I have to meet Gertrude at church! What do you know about that —four minutes past five!” His hand was on the door. Sheila, following him, saw his expression change curiously. “Why,” he-ejaculated simply, “it’s locked ” “It’s stuck." “Stu:k nothing! It’s locked.” They investigated. Some fourteen or fifteen feet below’ them w’as a dirty, cindery roof, just the depth of one of the stories of the old building in w’hich they were trapped. A fire-escape’s railings curved up over one edge of this roof; there was a tangle Of chimneys, tanks, other roof levels about and below. “We couldn’t drop that?” Peter

speculated nervously, beside her et the window. “We’d break our legs/* "Gosh!” be ejaculated, off tor another feverish inspection of the room. “My mother’s waiting for me now!” “I know it.” “I’m due at a party at seven!'* the boy muttered. He had returned to the door. It was a high door, 3 deep-set and unpromising. It had been built in that long-ago time when solidity and permanence were considerations in architecture. Even to the pressure of Peter’s body it yielded not a quiver. Peter kicked it; it did not stir. “Gosh, I’ll bet there aren’t ten doors like that in New York!” he exclaimed bitterly. “The doors in our place — w'ell,j throw a silk stocking against them and they rattle!” Sheila observed. Peter gave her a resentful glance. “It’s all right for you,” he said. “But I’m in a hole.” “Oh, we’ll get out,” she stated. “All right, we’ll get out. But! how?” “Well—” she hesitated. “But youj can’t imagine our not getting out,” she offered. “I’ve got to get out!” “There doesn’t seem to be a telephone—” Sheila remarked thoughtfully. < His_ glance explored the entire place. “D’vou suppose they open up the library nights?” “They might—Saturday night.” “They don’t!” he said in despair. “If we could just bust into that next room.” he began again, after a pause in which Sheila, having opened the window upon the bleak winter evening, had hung out of it at a|ll possible angles, to see if she could discover any means of escape. “It’s snowing!” the girl an-' nounbed, breathless, with soot on her cheeks, as she drew in her head and slammed the 1 window down again “ Whew'-w-w' It's bitter, out there.” The first look of personal uneasiness darkened Sheila’s duststreaked face. “I’ve got to get out,” she said. “My mother’ll have cat fits. If I’m away without letting her know she gets awfully rna.dk- She’ll be fit to be tied!” “Well, what do you think it is for me?” Peter demanded sulkily. They flung themselves on the door for three unavailing minutes that seemed like half an hour. When they gave up! both boy and girl w r ere disheveled, panting, their hands sore. The solemn bells of Saint Paul’s sounded Angelus, and Sheila’s lips moved automatically on the exquisite words. fe “It’s snowing like mad, it’s blizzard in g, ” she said, at the window. “Well,” Peter said. “Here we are. Where do we go from here?” Snow muffled the world; snow piled itself on the broad windowsills. The room began to get very cold, and smelled more than ever of dust and rubber and old bindings. “They’re letting the furnace go out!” Sheila suddenly observed. “That’s what they’ve done, all right.” “Then there’s nobody here, Saturday and Sundays.” A long pause. They looked at each other. CHAPTER VI “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Peter said. “Because w r hen I don’t show up my folks will get in touch with the police.” “But they’ll put our names in the papers!” Sheila answered. “Not if my father gets on the job. He has ’em all in his pockets. If I could only get out of in time for that party,” Peter wenhon, restively, “I could square it with Gert fast enough. Mother wouldn’t care, anyway. w But if they have to call of! the party—” “Call it off?” she repeated, as he paused, scowling. “Yep. You see, it’s for Gert and me, and there’s going to be a hundred people there. That’d be a heck of a note!” he muttered. “Look here,” he said suddenly, after another long interval. “We’ve got to drop out of this window, somehow. We could easily freeze to death in here before they found us—” “Oh, don’t!” Sheila whispered, turning white. “Well, I tell you w'e could. We haven’t got anything to eat—it’s only seven o’clock now—they mightn’t find us until Monday morning—” “Oh, please!” He was at the window, the girl beside him. They opened it, and a rush of cold snowy air swept into the room, and made them stagger back, gasping. Peter shut the window; there was again an unearthly languor and closeness in the suddenly quieted place. “Listen!” he said, “I’ll take this ladder, and set it in the snow down there on the ribof next door, and drop onto it.” “That’ll break every bone in your body!” Sheila predicted. The Ihdder was about four feet high. They looked at it dubiously. “If I could get down,” iPeter muttered, “and telephone Gert —” And without further warning he was up, at the window' again, he had thrown it open, his head was out in the storm. Like a person transfixed in a terrible dream Sheila saw his body silhouetted for an instant against the failing flakes of the snow. Then the wdndow space was empty, except for the thick soft flutter the blizzard! (TO BE COXTIXLED)

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