The Colonel’s Word will Stand -By Colonel Hardress

During my military service in India, in those stirring times of mutiny and murder, I had in my regiment a little bugler. I had often noticed him as being too fragile and delicate for the life he had to lead; but he was born in the regiment, and we were bound to make the best of him. His father, as brave a man as ever lived, had been killed in action; his mother, broken-hearted, had just drooped, and died six months after.

About two years later, when Willie Holt was fourteen, the regiment was bivouacking some miles from the camp. Before we had been out a fortnight several acts of insubordination had been brought to my notice, and I had pledged to make an example of the very next offense by having the culprit flogged. One night the targets were thrown down and otherwise mutilated. On investigation, the rascally act was traced to the men in the very tent were Willie Holt was billeted, two of them being the worst characters in the regiment. The whole lot were instantly put under arrest, and tried by court martial, when enough evidence was produced that one of the prisoners was guilty of the crime. None would own up to being the guilty one and at last I spoke: “If any one of you who slept in No.4 tent last night will come forward and take his punishment like a man, the rest will get off free; but if not, there remains no other alternative but to punish you all – each man in turn to receive ten strokes of the cat.

For the space of a couple of minutes, dead silence followed then, from the midst of the prisoners, where his slight form had been almost hidden, Willie Holt came forward. He advanced to within a couple of yards from where I sat; his face was pale, a fixed intensity of purpose stamped on every line of it, and his steadfast eyes met mine. “Colonel,” said he, “you have passed your word that if any one of those who slept in No. 4 tent last night comes forward to take the punishment the rest shall get off Scot-free. I am ready, sir; and May I take it now?

For a moment I was speechless, so utterly was I taken by surprise; then, in a fury of anger and disgust, I turned upon the prisoners. “Is there no man among you worthy of the name? Are you all cowards enough to let this lad suffer for your wrong acts? For that he is guiltless you must know as well as I.” But sullen and silent they stood.

Then I turned to the boy, whose patient, pleading eyes were fixed on my face, and never in all my life have I found myself so painfully situated. I knew my word must stand, and the lad knew it, too, as he repeated once more, “I am ready, sir.” Sick at heart, I gave the order, and he was led away for punishment.

Bravely he stood, with back bared, as one- two-three- strokes descended. At the fourth, a faint moan escaped his white lips, and ere the fifth fell a hoarse cry burst from the group of prisoners who had been forced to witness the scene, and

The Little Highland Hero

In the north of Scotland, where the main railway line crosses a great ravine or gully - a fearful looking abyss - the viaduct that bridged it was one of the wonders of the north. One night a fearful storm raged over that district. The Little stream or burn that meandered under the verdict was turned into a raging mad torrent.

A young Highland shepherd laddie sheltered his sheep as best he could for the night. In the morning, long before dawn, he set out to see how they had fared. As he made his way up to the hillside, he noticed to his horror that the central column had gone, and that the bridge was broken. He knew that the mail train was due, and that if not warned, she would be dashed to pieces and many lives lost. He looked at the raging torrent. He wondered if he could get across. The thought of the danger of so many urged him on. He plunged in, and made his way to the other side. He was battered and sore, and breathless and bleeding when he got to the other side. He made his way up as best he could, wondering if he could be in time. As soon as he reached the rails he heard the “pound, pound” of the mighty engine.

The King Of Terrors. By Hector Alves

We were Traveling home one beautiful Sunday evening on the suburban train; the coaches were filled and many were standing in the aisles. Above the noise of the train was heard the chatter and the laughter of the giddy crowd, young and old. Some had spent the day in sport; they had their picnic baskets, their ball and bat, and other evidences of the day spent in Pleasure. Some were returning home from the theater and other places of amusement, and all were talking and laughing over the amusement they had indulged in during the day that is called " The Lord's Day."

We were returning from a Gospel meeting, a very solemn meeting, at which two servants of the Lord had been preaching on the subject of sin, and warning their listeners to "flee from the wrath to come" and to trust in the Lord Jesus Christ for the salvation of their souls. Noticing the indifference of the people on our train in regards to these eternal things and, realizing our responsibility towards them at such a time, my companion said to me, "Let us give these pleasure-loving people a gospel tract." So we went through the Train, handing each passenger a little gospel paper. we were not very well received; the people did not want their fun and amusement interrupted in such a manner. Many refused to accept the tract from us; some, when they saw what they were threw them on the floor; others simply tore up the silent messengers. So we felt disappointment at the general reception of the Word of God.

Our Train had traveled about five or six miles when it suddenly came to a stop. The conductor informed us that we would all have to leave the train, walk across a long trestle just ahead, and that we would find a train waiting for us at the other end to take us on our journey.

We were told that the train ahead of ours had struck and run over a man who

The Most Interesting Story Ever Heard By Bob Jones

The Most interesting story i ever heard was told me years ago by a man over eighty years of age. We were sitting together on a projecting rock of a mountainside in Arkansas. Here is the story.

"I was down in this country during the civil war. Across on the other side yonder there were hundreds of tents where soldiers were encamped. Measles broke out and many of the brave lads died. The epidemic got so bad we stretched some tents farther down the valley and moved all the measles patients into these tents. This of course, was done to protect as far as possible the health of the well soldiers. I was wardmaster in charge of the tents where the measles patients were located.

"One night while i was on the ward I passed a bunk where there was a very sick soldier lad not more than seventeen years of age. The boy looked at me with a pathetic expression and said, 'Wardmaster, I believed I am going to die. I am not a Christian. My Mother isn't a Christian. My Father isn't a Christian. I never had any Christian training. I never did attend Church. I did go with a boy friend to Sunday School just once. A woman taught the Sunday School class. She seemed to be such a good woman. She read us something out of the Bible about a man - I think His name was Nicodemus. Anyway, it was about a man who went to see JESUS one night. JESUS told this man he must be Born Again. The Teacher said all people must be Born Again in order to go to HEAVEN when they die. I have never been born again, and I don't want to die like this. Won't you please get the Chaplain so he can tell me how to be Born Again?"

Asleep To Danger - Story By F. G. Watson

A number of Years ago, a freight train was standing at a station in Northern Ontario, waiting for orders to proceed north. The conductor was in the station getting order; the forward crew was in the cab of the engine; and the rear brakeman was sitting in the caboose at the rear. They knew another freight train was following close behind, and knew the semaphore was down to protect them.

The Rear brakeman heard the oncoming train and expected every moment to hear it slow down, but there was no slackening of speed. At last he realized something must be wrong, so grabbing his lantern, he rushed out on to the rear platform to see the train coming right under the semaphore. He ran down the track, waving his lantern to attract the attention of the engineer, but at last had to step aside to avoid being killed. As the engine passed, he threw his lantern through the window. This was the first thing to arouse the engineer whom he had seen nodding as the engine approached him. But ere the engineer could stop or jump,