ho believe in Christ and
believe that Christ and God are one. I may not understand them, but I
have thought of them a great deal:--"

"'And if any man hear my words and believe not, I judge him not: for I
came not to judge the world but to save the world.'"

"'He that rejecteth me and receiveth not my words, hath one that
judgeth him: the word that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in
the last day.'"

He shut his Testament and put it back into his pocket and looked at his
judges.

"I understand this declaration of Christ to mean," he said, "that
whether I believe in Him or do not believe in Him, I am not to be
judged till God's Day of Judgment."

IX

A few days later David was walking across the fields on his way home:
it was past the middle of the afternoon.

At early candle-light that morning, the huge red stage-coach, leaving
town for his distant part of the country, had rolled, creaking and
rattling, to the dormitory entrance, the same stage that had conveyed
him thither. Throwing up his window he had looked out at the curling
white breath of the horses and at the driver, who, buried in coats and
rugs, and holding the lash of his whip in his mittened fist, peered up
and called out with no uncertain temper.

The lad was ready. He hastily carried down the family umbrella and the
Brussels carpet valise with its copious pink roses, looking strangely
out of season amid all that hoar frost. Then he leaped back upstairs
for something which had been added to his worldly goods since he
entered college--a small, cheap trunk, containing a few garments and
the priceless books. These things the driver stored in the boot of the
stage, bespattered with mud now frozen. Then, running back once more,
the lad seized his coat and hat, cast one troubled glance around the
meaningless room which had been the theatre of such a drama in his
life, went over to the little table, and blew out his Bible Student's
lamp forever; and hurrying down with a cordial "all ready," climbed to
the seat beside the driver and was whirled away.

He turned as he passed from the campus to take a last look at Morrison
College, standing back there on the hill, venerable, majestical,
tight-closed, its fires put out. As he crossed the city (for there were
passengers to be picked up and the mail-bag to be gotten), he took
unspoken leave of many other places: of the bookstore where he had
bought the masterpieces of his masters; of the littl