Noise in Worship

HOW BEAVER PAID g9l

"Easy, boy, easy," Bob admonished him. "It's a long way to Eagle Rock and a nice warm stable with plenty of oats, and Kitty to give you sugar." Beaver cocked one ear appreciatively at the sound of his master's voice, but otherwise gave no sign of having heard. It might be well to mention here that Bob thought of Kitty much oftener than Beaver did, although it was the latter who received the sugar and whatever other sweetness that charming young lady saw fit to bestow. Their descent of the grade, because of the roughness of the trail,was much less rapid than Bob desired and darkness overtook them only a few miles from the lookout. The mercury had fallen steadily during the last two hours. The wind had increased to a hurricane, and then, all at once it ceased. The silence became ominous. The horse and rider had just left the canyon and started on the forty-mile stretch of open country when the blizzard engulfed them with all its fury. It was as if the storm had rested a few moments to catch its breath and had then started with redoubled energy. It seemed as if the elements had combined their forces for the purpose of destroying that mere speck of a horse and rider who had dared to brave their wrath. Driving sleet fell in layers. It was as impossible for a human being to see fifty feet into that swirling mass as it was for the horse to fly. After the first furious onslaught of the raging elements, Bob realized that he was face to face with death. Already he had lost all sense of direction. His face was giving him excruciating pain from the ceaseless pelting of the minute particles of ice. With numbed fingers he unrolled the neck of his sweater and pulled it over his head, drawing his cap down over it. There is something about life in the great, silent places of God's big outdoors that prepares men to meet great crises without flinching. Somehow the fear of death gives place to a strange curiosity to know what lies beyond, what the Creator of it all has in store for us on the other side. And thus Bob, firmly convinced that this was the last ride that he and Beaver would ever take together, smiled whimsically as he lashed himself to the horn of the saddle, preparing for that hour when he should be so overcome by the cold that he could no longer keep his seat. Several times, during a momentary lull in the storm, he attempted to guide Beaver towards the place where he believed the trail to lie. Each time the horse insisted on keeping his own course, and finally Bob desisted. "I know it's rough on you, Beaver, old boy," he murmured,