But that Sunday in the spring of the Great War the minister had us all, even the young and thoughtless, in the hollow of his hand. It was the 18th chapter of Second Samuel that he had read earlier in the Service, and now he was opening its meaning to us with deep-felt realisation of those great dramatic episodes. We saw the young man Absalom die. We saw Cushi start to bear his tidings to the king. We watched Ahimaaz swift on his track. We marked the king's anxious waiting, and the fixed gaze of the watchman on the city walls. We strained in the long strain of the runners. We fainted with the fears of a father's heart. We saw Ahimaaz outrun his rival yet falter in his message. And we heard the blow upon David's heart of Cushi's stroke. "And the king said unto Cushi, Is the young man Absalom safe? And Cushi answered, The enemies of my lord the king, and all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is." There were tears in the women's eyes as the preacher called us to see the stricken and weeping king climbing with weary step to the chamber over the gate. And in a solemn hush we heard the cry of his anguish "--O my son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee. O Absalom, my son, my son!" We had anxious fathers and mothers and wives and sisters in the Church that day, and it was as though our own sorrows were all gathered up into the old, unhappy, far-off things of which the preacher spoke. I had a dear one to be concerned for, but I was thinking now of some one else. For Widow McDonald was there, and the days had grown into weeks since last she had tidings of John--and he was her only boy. Suddenly she rose and slipped out. I followed her, for there was an odd, silent friendship between us, and I thought that I might help. To my surprise she did not turn homewards, but down the Glen, and there I saw that some one was waiting for her by the pine wood. "I saw your sign, sir," she said, "and I guessed you brought news of John. Oh, sir, tell me quick, is he safe?" "He is safe," the stranger answered. I could not see His face, but He seemed weary and far-travelled. It was His voice that made me wonder. For as He said "safe," it was as a new word to me, so full of healing and of peace that it laid to rest every fear of my unquiet heart. "And will he be home soon?" It was the mother who was speaking now. "I have taken the dear lad home," answered the stranger. "His room has been long prepared for him in my Father's house. He has fought a good fight. He was wounded, but his wounds are healed. He was weary, but he has found rest." And so speaking He looked at us, and as the mother clasped my hand I knew that the truth was breaking on her too. "He is dead," she sobbed. "No," said the stranger, "he is alive, for he has laid down his life that he might take it again."