FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT


A number of years ago, at an orphan asylum in a Northern State, there lived
a boy whom we shall call Will Jones. He was just an ordinary boy. No, he
was not so in one respect, which I must point out, to his discredit. Will
Jones had a temper that distinguished him from the general run of boys.
Will's temper might have been inherited from a Spanish pirate, and yet Will
was a boy whom every one loved; but this hair-trigger temper at times
terribly spoiled things. It would be tedious to recount his uprisings of
anger, and the direful consequences that often followed.

Mr. Custer, the superintendent of the asylum, had hopefully striven to lead
Will to the paths of right; but it was a difficult task.

Sometimes it needs but one small breach to begin the overthrow of a giant
wall. One small key, if it is the right one, will open the most resisting
door. One small phrase may start a germ-thought growing in a human mind
which in after-years may become a mighty oak of character. So Will Jones,
the incorrigible fighter was to demonstrate this principle, as we shall
see.

On a Sabbath evening, as the hundred or more orphans met at vespers and
sang, "Onward, Christian Soldiers!" they saw a stranger seated at the
speaker's desk in the home chapel. He was a venerable old Wan, straight and
dignified, his hoary head a crown of honor; for he was all that he
appeared--a father in Israel.