Bible Stories and Religious ClassicsWells, Philip P. (Philip Patterson)
Religion
Bible Stories and Religious Classics
Wells, Philip P. (Philip Patterson)
Bible stories, English -- Juvenile literature; Christian literature for children
"I thank thee, friend, but though I be hungry, and shivering with cold,
thou wilt not give me food nor lodging," replied the boy, in the quiet
tone which despair had taught him, even so young. "My father was of the
people whom all men hate. They have laid him under this heap of earth,
and here is my home."
The Puritan, who had laid hold of little Ilbrahim's hand, relinquished
it as if he were touching a loathsome reptile. But he possessed a
compassionate heart, which not even religious prejudice could harden
into stone.
"God forbid that I should leave this child to perish, though he comes of
the accursed sect," said he to himself. "Do we not all spring from an
evil root? Are we not all in darkness till the light doth shine upon us?
He shall not perish, neither in body, nor, if prayer and instruction may
avail for him, in soul." He then spoke aloud and kindly to Ilbrahim, who
had again hid his face in the cold earth of the grave. "Was every door
in the land shut against you, my child, that you have wandered to this
unhallowed spot?"
"They drove me forth from the prison when they took my father thence,"
said the boy, "and I stood afar off, watching the crowd of people; and
when they were gone, I came hither, and found only this grave. I knew
that my father was sleeping here, and I said, This shall be my home."
"No, child, no; not while I have a roof over my head, or a morsel to
share with you!" exclaimed the Puritan, whose sympathies were now fully
excited. "Rise up and come with me, and fear not any harm."
The boy wept afresh, and clung to the heap of earth, as if the cold
heart beneath it were warmer to him than any in a living breast. The
traveller, however, continued to entreat him tenderly, and seeming to
acquire some degree of confidence, he at length arose. But his slender
limbs tottered with weakness, his little head grew dizzy, and he leaned
against the tree of death for support.
"My poor boy, are you so feeble?" said the Puritan. "When did you taste
food last?"
"I ate of bread and water with my father in the prison," replied
Ilbrahim, "but they brought him none neither yesterday nor to-day,
saying that he had eaten enough to bear him to his journey's end.
Trouble not thyself for my hunger, kind friend, for I have lacked food
many times ere now."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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