"
"What story?"
"Not a story this time--the twenty-third Psalm."
The Boy took the worn Bible from the shelf, sat down on the edge of the
bed, opened, and began in low tones to read:
"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want----"
His voice choked and he stopped:
"O, Ma, I just can't read that now--why--why did he let this come to you
if He's your Shepherd--why--why--why!"
He buried his face in his hands and her slender fingers touched his
hair:
"He knows best, my son--read on--the words are sweet to my soul from
your lips."
With an effort he opened the Book again:
"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
"He leadeth me beside the still waters.
"He restoreth my soul:
"He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
"I will fear no evil; for thou art with me----"
Again the voice choked into silence and he closed the Book.
"I can't--I can't read it. I'm afraid you're going to give up!" he
sobbed. "O Ma, you won't, will you? Please say you won't?"
"No, no, I won't give up, my Boy," she said soothingly. "I'm just ready
for anything He sends----"
"But I don't want you to say that!" he broke in passionately. "You must
fight. You mustn't be ready. You mustn't think about dying.
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