Cheraw chronicle. (Cheraw, S.C.) 1896-2005, April 08, 1915, Image 6
Tiie Gall of the
ICiimborlands
By Charles Neville Buck
With Illustrations '
from Photographs of Scenes j
in the Play
(Copyright. 1913. by W. J. Watt & Co.)
T
SYNOPSIS.
On Misery creek Sally Miller finds
George Lescott. a landscape painter, unconscious.
Jesse Purvy of the Hollman
clan has been shot end Samson Is suspected
of the crime. Samson denies It.
The shooting breaks the truce In the
Hollman-South feud. Jim Hollman hunts
with bloodhounds*the man who shot Purvy.
The bloodhounds lose the trail at
Spicer South's door. Lescott discovers
artistic ability In Samson. While sketching
n/ith 1 osmtt nn the mountain. Tama
rack discovers Samson to a Jeering crowd
of mountaineers. Samson thrashes him
and denounces him as the "truCe-buster"
who shot Purvy. At Wile McCager's
dance Samson tells the South
clan that he is going to leave the
mountains. Lescott goes home to New
Tork. Samson bids Spicer and Sally I
farewell and follows. In New York Samson
studies art and learns much of city
ways. Drennle Lescott persuades Wilfred
Horton. her dilettante lover, to do a
man's work in the world.
CHAPTER IX.
Christmas came to Misery wrapped
In a drab mantle of desolation. At
the cabin of the Widow Miller Sally
was sitting alone before the logs. She
laid down the slate and spelling book,
over which her forehead had been
strenuously puckered, and gazed somewhat
mournfully Into the blaze. Sally
had a secret. It was a secret which she
based on a faint hope. If Samson
should come hack to Miseryvhe would
come back full of new notions. No
man had ever yet returned from that
outside world unaltered. No man ever
would. A terrible premonition said he
would not come at all, but, If he did?
If he did?she must know how to read
and write. Maybe, when she had
learned a little more, she might even
go to school for a term or two.
v The cramped and distorted chirogrmphy
on the slate was discouraging.
It was all proving very hard work. The
girl gazed for a time at something she
saw in the embers, and then a faint
smile came to her lips. By next Christinas
she would surprise Samson with a
_ utter ..tt-ihould
virf"'"blll&'iw*ghoald be arT'lsn't." "
\ 1 r *
> The normal human mind is a res<en<olr
which fills at a rate of speed
Tegulated by the number and caliber
of its feed pipes. Samson's mind had
long been almost empty, and now from
'to many sources the waters of new
things were rushing in upon it that
under their pressure it must fill fast,
or alve away.
*' "He was saved from hopeless complications
of thought by a sanity
which was willing to assimilate .without
too much effort to analyze. The
boy from Misery was presently less
bizarre to the eye than many of the
unkempt bohemians he met in the life
of the studios, men who quarreled
garrutously over the end and aim of
Art, which they spelled with a capital
A--and, for the most part, knew
nothing of. He retained, except within
a small circle of intimates, a silence
that passed for taciturnity, and a
solemnity of visage that was often
construed into surly egotism.
He still wore his hair long, and,
though his conversation gradually
sloughed off much of its idiom and
vulgarism, enough of the mountaineer
stood out to lend to his personality a
savor of the crudely picturesque.
Meanwhile he drew and read and
studied and walked, and every day's
advancement was a forced march.
Lescott, tremendously Interested in his
experiment, began to fear that the
boy's too great somberness of disposition
would defeat the very earnest
ness from which it sprang. So one
morning the landscape-maker called
on a friend whom he rightly believed
to be the wisest man, and the greatest
humorist in New York.
"I want your help," said Lescott.
"I want you to meet a friend of mine
and take him under your wing in a
fashion. He needs you."
The stout man's face clouded. A few
year3 ago he had been peddling Lis
manuscripts with the heart-sickness of
unsuccessful middle age. Today men
coupled hi3 name with those of Kipling
and De Maupassant. One of his
antipathies was meeting people who
sought to lionize him. Lescott read
the expression, and, before his host
had time to object, swept into his recital.
At the end he summarized:
"The artist is much like the setter
pup. If it's in him, it's as instinctive
as a dog's nose. But to become efficient
he must go a-field with a steady
veteran of his own breed."
"I know!" The great man, who was
also the simple man, smiled reminisceutly.
"They tried to teach me to
herd sheep when my nose was itching
tnr- nirri rrmntrv Rrincr on vour man:
I want to know hira."
Samson was told nothing of the benevoient
conspiracy, but one evening
shortly later he found himself sitting
at a cafe table with his sponsor and
a stout man, almost as silent as himself.
The stout man responded with
some'hing like churlish taciturnity
to th'. half-dozen men and women who
came over with flatteries. But later,
when the trio was left alone, his face
brightened, and no turned to the boy
from Misery.
"Does Billy Conrad still keep store
at Stagbone?'
Samson started and his gaze fell in
amazement. At the mention of the
name he saw a cross-roads store with
rough mules hitched to fence palings.
It was a picture of home, and here was
a man who had been there! With
glowing eyes the boy dropped unconsciously
back into the vernacular of
the hills.
"Hev ye been tbar, stranger?"
The writer nodded, and sipped his
whisky.
"Not for some years, though," he
confessed, as he drifted into reminiscence,
which to Samson was like water
to a parched throat.
When they left the cafe the boy
felt as though he were taking leave
of an old and tried friend. By homely
methods, this unerring diagnostician
of the human soul had been reading
him, liking him. and making him feel a
heart-warming sympathy.
It was not until much later that
Samson realized how these two really
great men had adopted him as their
"little brother" that he might have
their shoulder-touch to march by. And
it was without his realization, too.
that they laid upon him the imprint
of their own characters and philosophy.
"I have come, not to quarrel with you,
but to try to dissuade you." The Hon.
Mr. Wlckliffe bit savagely at ms cigar
and gave a despairing spread to his
well-manicured bands. "You stand in
danger of becoming the most cordially
hated man in New York?-hated by the
most powerful combinations' in New
York."
Wilfred Horton leaned back in a
swivel chair and put his feet up on his
desk. For a while he seemed interested
in his own silk socks.
"It's very kind of you to warn me,"
he said, quietly.
The Hon. Mr. Wickliffe rose in exasperation
and paced -the floor. The
smoke from his black cigar went before
him in vicious puffs. Finally he
stopped and leaned glaring on the
table.
"Your, family has always been conservative.
When you succeeded to the
fortune you showed no symptoms of
this mania. In God's name, what has
changed you?"
"I hope I have grown up," explained
the young man, with an unruffled
smile. "One can't wear swaddling
clothes forever, you know."
The attorney for an instant softened
his manner as he looked into the
straight-gazing, unafraid eyes of hi*
client. "1^
'rorn your babyftowSfwiadviReclyq
u r laiu*;* "oelifrt
you were born. You have, by the
chance pf birth, come Into the control
of great wealth. The world of finance
is of delicate balapce. Squabbles in
certain directorates may throw the
Street into panic. Suddenly you
emerge from decent quiet and run
amuck in the china Bhop, bellowing
and tossing your norns. xou maaewar
on those whose Interests are your
own. You seem bent on hari-kari.
You have toys enough to amuse. Why
couldn't you stay put?"
"They weren't the right things.
They were, as you say, toys." Tha
smile faded and Horton's chin set
itself for a moment as he added:
"If you don't think I'm going to stay
put?watch me."
"Why do you have to make war?
to be chronically insurgent?"
"Because"?the young man, who had
waked up, spoke slowly?"I am reading
a certain writing on the wall. The
time is not far off when, unless we
regulate a number of matters from
within we shall be regulated from
without."
"Take for instance this newspaper
war you've inaugurated on the police,"
grumbled the corporation lawyer. "It's
less dangerous to the public than
these financial crusades, but decidedly
more so for yourself. You are regarded
as a dangerous agitator, a marplot!
I tell you, Winfred, aside from
all other considerations the thing is
perilous to yourself. You are riding
tor a ia.ii. rnese men wnum juu aic
whipping out of public life will turn
on you."
"So I heai. Here'3 a letter I got this
morning?unsigned. That is, I thought
it was here. Well, no matter. It
warns me that I have less than three
months to live unless I call off my
dogs."
It is said that the new convert is
ever the most extreme fanatic. Wilfred
Horton had promised to put on
his working clothes, and-he had done
it with reckless disregard for consequences.
At first, he was simply obeying
Adrienne's orders; but soon he
found himself playing the game for
the game's sake. Political overlor<l3.
assailed as unfaithful servants, showed
their teeth. From some hidden, but
unfaLling. source terribly sure and direct
evidence of guilt was being gathered.
For Wilfred Horton, who was
demanding a day of reckoning and
spending great sums of money to get
it, there was a prospect of things doing.
Adrienne Lescott was in Europe.
oho n-nnia return nnrt Hnrltin
kJUWU OUU "UUJU 1 VVU* M * ? anw. %VM
meant to show that he had not buried
his talent.
For eight months Samson's life had
run in the steady ascent of gradual
climbing, but in the four months from
the first of August to the first of December,
the pace of his existence suddenly
quickened. He left off drawing
from plaster casts and went into a
life class.
- In this period Samson had his first
acquaintanceship with women, except
those he had known from childhood?
and Ms acquaintance with the
men who were not of his o*Vn art
world.
Tony Collasso was an Italian illustrator
who lodged and painted in
studio-apartments in Washington
Square, South. His companions were
various, numbering among them a
group of those pygmy celebrities of
whom one has never h'eard until- by
chance he meets them, and of whom
their intimates speak as of immortals. *
To Collasso's studio' Samson was
called one night by telephone." He
had sometimes gone there before to
sit for an hour, chiefly as a listener,
while the man from Sorrento bewailed
fate with his coterie, and denounced
all forms of government over insipid
Chianti.
But tonight he entered the door to
find himself in the midst of a gay and
boisterous party. The room was already
thickly fogged with smoke, and
a dozen men and women, singing
snatches of current airs, were interesting
themselves over a chaflng dish.':
The crowd was typical. A few very
minor writers and artists, a model or
two, and several women who bad
thinking parts In current Broadway
productions.
At eleven o'clock the guests of honor
arrived in a taxicab. They weje'Mr.
William Farbish and Miss Winifred
oiau, nttviii? tuuitt, ao tucjr cApiaiuvu, v
direct from the theater where Miss
Starr danced in the first row, they c
were in evening dress. Samson mentally
acknowledged, though with Instinctive
disfavor for the pair, that
both were, in a way, handsome. Collasso
drew him aside to whisper Importantly:
"Make yourself agreeable to Farbish.
He is received in the most exclusive
society, and is a connoisseur of art.
If he takes a fancy to you, he will
put you up :.t the best clubs. . I think
I shall sell him a landscape."
The girl was talking rapidly and
loudly. She had at once taken the
center of the room, and her faghter
rang in free and egotistic il peals
above the other voices. ,
"Come, said the host, "I i kali present
you." ' :
The boy shook hands, gaa lag with
his usual directndBs into tl is showgirl's
large and deeply-penci W eyes.
Farbish, standing at one side with
his hands in his pockets, lobked on
with an air of slightly bored detachment.
His dress, his mannerisms,: his bearing,
were all those of the man Who has
overstudied his part. They jterjp too
perfect, too obviously Agkrsed
through years of social cllmHjt, but
that was a defect Samson ^ka not
yet prepared to recognize.
Someone had naively coun^kfented ^
Miss Starr^
shoulders, and she'"turned jMWuptly i
and vivaciously to the fiatWer; ?
"It is nice, isn't it?" ifhh pfattm
"It may look a little up-Btag<y for a gill 1
who hasn't got a line to read into ?
the piece, but these days one must
get the spot light, or be a dead one. *
It reminds me of a little run-in I had 1
with Graddy?he's our stage-director,
you know." She paused, awaiting the 1
invitation to proceed, and, having re-1 (
ceived it, went gayly forward. "I was *
ten minutes late, one day, for rehearsal,
and Graddy came up with that sar- 1
castic manner of his, and said: j'Miss
Starr, I don't doubt you are a perfectly
nice girl, and all that, but it lather
gets my goat to figure out hojv, on
a salary of fifteen dollars a iveek,
you come to rehearsals in a million (
dollars' worth of clothes, riding in a f
limousine?and ten minutes lite!'" 5
She broke off with the eager little 1
expression of awaiting applause and,
having been satisfied, she addei: "I 1
was afraid that wasn't going to get a 1
laugh, after all."
She glanced inquiringly at Sanson, 1
who had not smiled, and who wood 1
looking puzzled. 1
"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. '
South, from down South," she chal- 1
lenged.
"I guess I'm sort of like Mr. Grad- 1
dy," said the boy, slowly. "I w^s Just 1
wondering how you do do it." '
He spoke with perfect seriodsneBs, (
and, after a moment, tne girl mroKe
into prolonged peal of laughter]
"Oh, you are delicious!" Bie exclaimed.
"If I could do the Ingenue
like that, believe me, I'd make) some j
hit." She came over, and, lajing a
hand on each of the boy's shoulder's
kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"That's for a droll boy!" she said.
"That's the best line I've heard pulled
lately."
Furbish was smiling in quiet amusement.
He tapped the mountaineer on
the shoulder.
"I've heard George Lescott speak of
you," he said, genially. "I've rather a
fancy for being among the discover- j
crs of men of talent. We must see
more of each other."
Samson left the party early, and
with a sense of disgust.
Several days later. Samson was
- in I AOrtntf'o otuHin I* nrfl j noor. 1
iliUIIC 111 l_jcnv.*-rn? o oiuuivi tiuo n>/u> i iug
twilight, and he had laid aside a '
volume of De Maupassant, whose simple
power had beguiled aim. The door 1
opened, and he saw the figure of a 1
woman on the threshold. The boy
rose somewhat shyly from his seat,
and stood looking at her. She was as
richly dressed as Miss Starr had been,
but there was the same difference as
between the colors of the sunset sky
and the exaggerated daubs of Collasso's
landscape. She stood at the door
a moment, and then came forward
with her hand outstretched. 1
"This is Mr. South, isn't it?" she :
asked, with a frank friendliness in i
her voice. I
"Yes, ma'am, that's my namje." I
"I'm Adrienne Lescott," said the J
girl.. "I thought Id find my brother
here. I stopped by to drive him uptown."
I
i
j
i
Samson had hesitatingly taken the a
gloved hand, and Its grasp was firm e
ind strong despite Its ridiculous
mallness. t
"I reckon he'll be back presently." 1
rhe boy was in doubt as to the proper t
jrocedure. This was Lescott's studio, c
md he was not certain whether or not <3
t lay in his province to invite Les- c
:ott's sister to take possession of it. t
Possibly, he ought to withdraw. " is f
deas of social usages were very vague. 1
"Then, I think I'll wait," announced t
he girl. She threw off her fhr coat, c
ind took a seat before the open grate, a
rhe chair was large. Mid swallowed s
ler up. # e
SamsoD wanted to ioolfr at her, and f
vas afraid >hat this would be impolite. ?
3e realized that he had seen no e
eal ladies, except on the street, and t
iow he had the opportunity. k
"I'm glad of this chance to meet J
rou, Mr. South," said the girl with a a
imile that found its way to the boy's
leart. After all, there was sincerity a
n "foreign" women. "George talks of \
r-ou so much that I feel as if I'd known ?
rou all the while. Don't you think I c
night claim friendship with George's 1
tiends?" a
Samson had no answer. He wished i
o say something equally cordial, but r
he old Instinct against effusiveness v
led bis tongue.
"I owe right smart to George Les- r
:ott," he told her, gravely.
"That's not answering my question," 1:
the laughed. "Do you consent to beng
friends with me?" 1
"Miss?" began the boy. Then, real- b
zing that In New York this form of t
tddress Is hardly complete, he hast- t
tnfed to add: "Mias Lescott, I've been t
lere over nine months now, and I'm a
ust beginning to realize what a rube p
am. I haven't no?" Again, he broke s
iff, and laughed at himself. "I mean,
haven't any idea of proper manners, ["
tnd so I'm, as we would say down
lorae, 'plumb skeend' of ladles."
* ' -? *- * 1* n_ rnitfl I
A8 ne accused uimaeu, oauinuu nao
ooking at ber with unblinking direct- <
less; and she met bis glance with /
tyes that twinkled. ^
"Mr. South," she said, "I know all I
ibout manners, and you know all |
ibout a hundred real things that I I
want to know. Suppose we begin g
eaching each other?" 1 IJ
Samson's face lighted with the rev- 8
lutionizing effect that a smile can I
jring only to features customarily fl
lolemn. I
"Miss Lescott," he said, "let's call |
hat a trade?but you're gettin' all '
be worst of it To start with, you
night give me>a lesson right now in
low a feller ought to act, when he's .
alkln' to a lady?how I ought to act
^Hftaugh made t*c situation as
rrnf minutes later,' Lescott entered. B
"will." he Bald, with a smile, "shall \
intJnuqe you people, or have you t
ilreiljy done it for yourselves?" li
"Olj," Adrienne assured him, "Mr. s
South and 1 are old friends." As she t
eft the room, she turned and added: a
'The second lesson had better be at a
ny house. If I telephone you some 1
lay when we can have the school-rooni v
:o ourselves, will you come up?"
Samson grinned and forgot *o be t
jashful as he replied: t
"I'll come a-kitin'!"
8
CHAPTER X. t
? I
Early that year, the touch of autumn c
:ame to the air. Often, returning at f
mndown from the afternoon life class, i
Samson felt the lure of its melancholy e
iweetness, and paused on one of the i
Washington Square benches, with
nany vague things stirring in his
nind. He felt with a stronger throb (
:he surety of young, but quickening,
ibilities within himself. Partly, it was (
:he charm of Indian summer, partly
i sense of growing with the days, but.
Uso, though he had not as yet realized
;hat, it was the new friendship into
which Adrienne had admitted him, r
md the new experience of frank cam- ,
iraderie with a woman not as a mem- r
Der of an inferior sex, but as an equal r
mpnp&nion of brain and soul. He had E
1 neiiollw nlnno ho. .
ieeil iitrr uilcii, auu uou?..j ??
;ause he shunned meetings with
strangers. Until his education had advanced
further, he wished to avoid
social embarrassments. He knew
:hat she liked him, and realized that
t was because he was a new and virile
:ype, and for that reason a diversion?
a sort of human novelty. She liked
iiim, too, because it was rare for a
nan to ofTer her friendship without
making love, and she was certain he
would not make love. He liked her
for the same reasons that every one
3lse did?because she was herself. Of
late, too, he had met a number of
men at Lescott's club. lie was mod5stly
surprised to find that, though
lis attitude on these occasions was
always that of one sitting in the background,
the men seemed to like him,
and, when they said, "See you again,"
at parting, it was with the convincing
manner of real friendliness.
One wonderful afternoon in October,
when the distances were inisttiung,
and the skies very clear, Sain30n
sat across the table from Adrienne
Lescott at a road house on the Sound.
The sun had set through grbat cloud
battalions massed against the west,
and the horizon was fading into darkness
through a haze like ash of roses. 1
She had picked him up on the Ave- 1
nue, and taken him into her car for I
a short spin, but the afternoon had
beguiled them, luring them on a little
farther, and still a little farther. When
they were a score of miles from Man- s
hattan, the car had suddenly broken a
down. It would, the chauffeur told
them, be the matter of an hour to
effect repairs, so the girl, explaining
to the boy that this event gave the \
nffalr the aspect Mt adventure, turned c
ind led tne way, on toot, to the aaatset
road house.
"We will telephone that we shall
late, and then have dinner," she
aughed. "And for rae to have dinner
vlth you alone, unchaperoned at a
:ountry inn, Is by New York standards
lelightfully unconventional. It borders
?n wickedness." Then, since their atitude
toward each other was so
riendiy and innocent, they both
aughed. They had dined under the
rees of an old manor house, built a
ientury ago, and now converted into
in inn, and they had enjoyed, themselves
because it seemed to them
sleasingly paradoxical that they should
led in a place seemingly so shabby;enteel
a cuisine and service of such
ixcellence. Neither of them had ever
teen there before, and neither of them
mew that the reputation of this estabishment
was in its own way wide?
ind unsavory.
The repairs did not go as sn.oothly
is the chauffeur had expected, and,
vhen he had finished, he was hungry.
>o, eleven o'clock found them still
:hatting at their table on the lighted
awn. After awhile, they fell silent,
;nd Adrienne noticed that her cpmtanioq's
face had become deeply, alnost
painfully set, and thut his gaze
vas tensely focused on herself.
"What is it, Mr. South?" she denanded.
The young man began to speak,
n a steady, self-accusing voice.
"I was sitting here, looking at you,"
le said, bluntly. "I was thinking
iow fine you are In every way; how
here is as much difference in the tex*
ure of men and women as there is in
he texture of clothes. From that
utomobile cap you wear your slipiers
and stockings, you are clad in
ilk. From your brain to the tone of
"I Waa Thinking of My People.?
onr voice, yon are.woien"<nrStfl?r
ilk. I've learned lately that' silk Isn't
reak, but strong. They make the
test balloons of it" He paused and
augbed, but his face again became
ober. "I was thinking, too, Of your
aother. She must be sixty, but she's
> young woman. Her face is smooth
,nd unwrinkled, and her heart is still
n bloom. A*. the same age, George
icn't be mucl older than he i? now."
The compliment was so obviously
lot intended as compliment at all
hat the girl fl ished with pleasure.
"Then," weri. on Samson, Lis face
ilowly drawing with pain, "I was
hinking of my own people. My
nother was about forty when she
lied. She was an old woman. My
ather was forty-three. He was an old
nan. I was thinking how they with*
ired under their drudgery?and of the
nonstrous injustice of it all." .
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
3L0 CRAFT OF ODD DESIGN
Mesopotamia Boat, Known as Kufa,
Known to Have Been In Um Before
Christian Era.
The Kufa, a curious circular boat
nade of basketwork, and - seen nol'Vinra
oloo In thn vnrlll Is a COEQ
on sight in Mesopotamia. The fer ymen
charge only a cent each paatenger.
There is one good point about
hese strange craft?they are not easIy
upset. Their carrying capacity also
s great, and the kufa men pack in
heir passengers like herrings in a barel.
1 had the good luck to take a phoograph
of the actual building of a
tufa on the banks of the Tigris river,
lays a writer in the Wide World. They
tre made of date palm branches
voven together with rope, made out of
eaves of the same palm, thickly plasered
on the outside with bitumen.
They range from four to twelve feet
n diameter. Nowhere but on the
rigris and lower Euphrates rivers can
>ne see these curious craft, which
lerve principally for the transport of
lassengers, country, produce and
leasts of burden across the river,
^bout three men are required to make
i kufa of respectable size, and it
akes them some twenty days to build
t. Like the kelek, the kufa is of
jreat antiquity, for both these strange
iraft were in use long before the time
>f Christ. The evidence or tnis is in
lisputable, for on the bas-reliefs taken
rom the palace of Sennacherib both
:raft are clearly represented.
Depends on the Well.
"Truth lies at the bottom, of ?
veil," quoted the Sage. "Not if It
lappens to be an oil well," corrected
he fool.
Warmed By Snow.
The earth, under a thick coating of
mow, is ten degrees warmer than tht
iir Immediately above the snow.
Tough Spider Weba.
So. . of the spiders of Jam have
vebs so strong that a knift it ft
luirad to out then.
hhmonal
SUNMfSOKE
Lesson ~
(By E. O. SETTERS, Acting Dlra^flflM
Sunday School Course, Moody
stitute, Chicago.)
^essoat^or^pml^^^^h
DAVID ANOINTED
LESSON' TEXT?I Samuel 16:4,fl^^H|
GOLDEN TJEXT?Man lookett^^^^^H
outward appearance, but JehovahrM^^^^V
on the heart.?I Samuel 15:7 R. V.
After the events recorded In last
Sunday's lesson Samuel retired to
Ramah never again to see Saul's face.
Samuel "mourned" (15:35) 1. e., be-walled
and lamented the deposed king.
It was noble for Samuel thus to be
grieved over Saul's sin; still, Qod bad
work for him to do. There Is a sorrow
that "worketh repentance" which
is pleasing in the sight of Qod, hot
that idle sorrow which spends itself
in unprofitable mourning is detrimental
to man and a hindrance to the
kingdom of God (ch. 8:7; 15:1) Men
may fail but the kingdom goes forward.
We do not interpret verse 8
as suggesting any subterfuge on Qod's
part but rather that God refused to,
pay any attention to Samuel s fear *
God answers fear by giving us duties
to perform and in their performance
we are delivered from our fears.
I. David Chosen to Be King, vv. 4-10.
Saul, the clamorous choice of the people,
was not succeeded by David?"the
man after God's own heart"?for several
years after this lesson God's
will in this matter was shown to
Samuel progressively: (a) in chapter
13:14 Samuel is informed that God
hath sought "a man after his own
heart;" (b) in 16:1 he is told to go
and find the king whom God had provided;
(c) in verse 12 Samuel
is at last definitely told whom God
has selected. This selection is in accordance
with the prophecy made centuries
before regarding the kingly
scepter (Gen. 49:10). Of course it
was high treason, this adt Samuel was
about to perform, and Saul yet had
many friends and supporters (v. 2).
God seems to'have permitted Samuel
to use one avowed purpose to conceal
the real one, but "such a course is
one to use but sparingly" (Maclaren).
God can and does protect those whom .
he sends (Pa 34:7) and "man is immortal,
till his work is done." Just
what or how did not concern Samuel
? uD'iud.-Oca's
step at a time was sufficient and la
taking each step Samuel was to tell rt-l
the exact truth.
Thus God guides and tests his servants.
Samuel was a judge as well as
a prophet (ch. 7:16) and the people
of Bethlehem were agitated at hla
arrival. It may be, too, that these
elders were tearful of incurring the
displeasure of SauL There was no
occasion for fear, as Samuel's purpose
was to sacrifice and his mission one of
peace even as the angelic messenger!
who quieted the shepherds with their
message of "peace" when 'great
David's greater son" was ushered into
the world. Jesse was a grandson of
Ruth the Moabitess and also a descendant
of Rahab the harlot On
his father's side he belonged to the
strong tribe of Judah. He was evidently
a man of some wealth, certainly
in his children. After the sacrifice
and before the feast Samuel ia
made acquainted with the sons of
Jesse. The first, Eliab, was tall and
good to look upon and at once Samuel
fixed upon him as the certain choice
'for Jehovah.
II. David Anointed King, v\u 1113.
Seven sons are set aside and yet
Samuel did not hear the voice of
God's approval. In seeming dismay he
asks, "Are here all' thy children?"
Jesse seems to have made a careless
and reluctant reply that the youngest
was away from home tending sheep.
Thereupon Samuel asserts that "we
will not sit down (to the sacrificial
feast) till he be brought hither " It la
from such lowly positions that God la
constantly promoting men to positlona
of responsibility and prominence.
Witness Carey, Livingston, Moody and
a hundred others past and present. David
at this time was about fifteen
years old (Beecher). His name means
"darling," significant of the affection
of his mother, whose name is unknown,
but to whom David twice
makes reference (Ps. 86:16; 116:16).
David was- short, compared with his
brothers, but had bright eyes (v. 12
marg.) and a fair face?a "comely
person" (v. 18). David was agile and
strong and though seemingly scoffed
at by his brothers and neglected by
his father it did not pervert his good
nature nor turn him from the performance
of bis duties. Samuel did not
crreet David as he had greeted Saul,
he may have been dispappointed. This
gives emphasis to the words in verse
12, "Arise anoint him: for
is he."
David is anointed, set apart, for the
kingship, but is not equipped nor does
he enter upon his offices till later.
In this he is a type of Jesus who
shall yet reign on David's throne.
Verses 13 and 14 tell of the developing
contrast in the lives of Saul and
David. David the young king, potential
only at this time, is a great inspiration
to the young of all ages in
that, (1) He did his lowly work
thoroughly; (2) While doing it he
sought to cultivate and improve himself
(v.18); and (3) He gave himself
wholly to God; hence the record "and
die Lord is with him" (r. IS).
i