WAITING FOR THE GRIST

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 30, 1881

WAITING FOR THE GRIST.

"It is strange," said a gentleman who sat next to me in the car, and with whom I had struck up quite an acquaintance, "what an influence a look, a word, or the little act of a perfect stranger will sometimes have upon a person."

"Yes," said I, "more than any of us realize."

"It was the simple act of a stranger that changed the whole course of my life."

"Indeed! How so?"

"When I was a boy, my father moved to the then far West—Ohio. It was before the days of steam, and no great mills thundered on her river banks, but occasionally there was a little grist-mill by the side of some small stream, and thither, whenever the water was up, the whole neighborhood flocked with their sacks of corn. 'First come, first served.' Sometimes we had to wait two or three days for our turn. I generally was the one sent from our house, for while I was too small to be of much account on the farm, I was as good as a man to carry a grist to mill. So I was not at all surprised one morning when my father said: 'Henry, you can get up old roan and go to mill to-day.'"

"Saunders' mill was ten miles away; but I had made the trip so often that it did not seem far. I believe one becomes more attached to an old mill than to any other building. I can see just how it looked as it stood there under the sycamores, with its huge wheel and rough clapboard sides."

"When I arrived, I found the North Branch and the Rocky Fork folks there, ahead of me, and I knew there was no hope of getting home that day; but I was not at all sorry, for my basket was well filled with provisions, and Mr. Saunders always opened his big barn for us to sleep in; so it was no unpleasant time we had while waiting for our grist. This time there was an addition to the number that had been in the habit of gathering from time to time in the old Saunders' barn—a young fellow about my age, probably a little older. His name was Charley Allen, and his father had bought a farm over on the Brush Creek road. He was sociable and friendly, but I instinctively felt that he had 'more manners' than the rest of us. The evening was spent, as usual, in relating coarse jokes and playing cards. Although I was not accustomed to such things at home, I had become so used to it that it had long since ceased to shock me, and indeed, I was fast becoming a very interested spectator."

'Well, boys, it is time for us fellers to go to roost,' said Jim Finley, one of the greatest roughs on the Rocky Fork, as he threw down his pack of cards and began to undress. We all followed his example, although it was not much undressing we did to sleep on the hay; but we were so busy with our own affairs that we did not notice Charley Allen until Jim exclaimed: 'Heydey! we've got a parson here, we hev!' Charley was kneeling by the oats bin, praying. Jim Finley's jest met with no response. The silence was only broken by the drowsy cattle below, and the twittering swallows overhead.

More than one rough man wiped a tear from his eyes as he silently went to his bed on the hay. I had always been in the habit of praying at home, but I never thought of such a thing at Saunders' mill. As I lay awake that night in the old barn, thinking of Charley Allen's courage, and what an effect it had upon the men, I firmly resolved that in the future I would do right. I little thought how soon my courage would be tested. Just after dinner I got my grist, and started for home. When I arrived at Albright's gate, where I turned off to go home, I found the old squire waiting for me. I saw in a moment that something had gone wrong. I had always stood in the greatest awe of the old gentleman, because he was the rich man of the neighborhood, and now I felt my heart beginning to beat very fast. As soon as I came near he said, 'Did you go through this gate yesterday?' I could easily have denied it, as it was before daylight when I went through, and I quite as often went the other way. Charley Allen kneeling in the barn came to my mind like a flash, and before I had time to listen to the tempter I said, 'Yes, sir, I did!'

'Are you sure you shut and pinned the gate?' he asked.

'This question staggered me. I remembered distinctly that I did not. I could pull the pin out without getting off my horse, but I could not put it in again; so I carelessly rode away, and left it open.'

'I—I—I—'

'Out with it; tell just what you did!'

'I left it open,' I said, abruptly.

'Well, you let the cattle in, and they have destroyed all my early potatoes—a terrible piece of business.'

'I'm very sorry, I'd—'

'Talking won't help matters now; but remember, boy, remember that sorrow don't make potatoes.'

'I felt very badly about the matter, for I was really sorry that the old gentleman had lost his potatoes, and then I expected to be severely reprimanded at home; but I soon found that they knew nothing of the matter, and after several days had passed, I began to rest quite easy. Alas for human hopes, one rainy afternoon I saw the squire riding down the lane. I ran off to the barn, ashamed to face him, and afraid to meet my father. They sat on the porch and talked for a long time. At last my curiosity overcame my fear, and I stole back to the house, and went into my mother's room to see if I could hear what they were talking about. 'Why, the boy could be spared well enough, but he don't know anything about the business,' said my father. 'There is one thing he does know,' said the squire, 'he knows how to tell the truth.' He then related the circumstance which I so much dreaded to have my father hear. After he had gone, my father called me to him and told me that the squire was going to start a store in the village, and wanted a boy to help, and that I could if I wanted to. I went, and remained in the village store until it blossomed out into a city store; and people say that I got my start in life when I entered Albright's store; but I will always maintain that I got it while I was waiting for the grist.' —Sunday School Times.