AN ANSWER TO PRAYER
Then the old man remembered that he was making Bud suffer with his
own sorrow, and when Bud looked at him again the Bishop had wiped his
eyes on the back of his hand and was smiling.
Ben Butler, unknown to either, had come to a standstill.
The Bishop broke out in a cheery tone:
"My, how far off the subject I got! I started out to tell you all
about Ben Butler, and--and--how he come in answer to prayer," said
the Bishop solemnly.
Bud grinned: "It muster been, '_Now I lay me down to sleep_.'"
The Bishop laughed: "Well I'll swun if he ain't sound asleep sho'
'nuff." He laughed again: "Bud, you're gittin' too bright for
anything. I jes' don't see how the old man's gwinter talk to you much
longer 'thout he goes to school agin."
"No--Ben Butler is a answer to prayer," he went on.
"The trouble with the world is it don't pray enough. Prayer puts God
into us, Bud--we're all a little part of God, even the worst of us,
an' we can make it big or let it die out accordin' as we pray. If we
stop prayin' God jes' dies out in us. Of course God don't answer any
fool prayer, for while we're here we are nothin' but a bundle of
laws, an' the same unknown law that moves the world around makes yo'
heart beat. But God is behind the law, an' if you get in harmony with
God's laws an' pray, He'll answer them. Christ knowed this, an' there
was some things that even He wouldn't ask for. When the Devil tempted
Him to jump off the top of the mountain. He drawed the line right
there, for He knowed if God saved Him by stoppin' the law of
gravitation it meant the wreck of the world."
"Bud," he went on earnestly, "I've lived a long time an' seed a heap
o' things, an' the plaines' thing I ever seed in my life is that two
generations of scoffers will breed a coward, an' three of 'em a
thief, an' that the world moves on only in proportion as it's got
faith in God.
"I was ruined after the war--broken--busted--ruined! An' I owed five
hundred dollars on the little home up yander on the mountain. When I
come back home from the army I didn't have nothin' but one old
mare,--a daughter of that Kathleena I told you about. I knowed I was
gone if I lost that little home, an' so one night I prayed to the
Lord about it an' then it come to me as clear as it come to Moses in
the burnin' bush. God spoke to me as clear as he did to Moses."
"How did he say it?" asked Bud, thoroughly frightened and looking
around for a soft spot to jump and run.
"Oh, never mind that," went on the Bishop--"God don't say things out
loud--He jes' brings two an' two together an' expects you to add 'em
an' make fo'. He gives you the soil an' the grain an' expects you to
plant, assurin' you of rain an' sunshine to make the crop, if you'll
only wuck. He comes into yo' life with the laws of life an' death an'
takes yo' beloved, an' it's His way of sayin' to you that this life
ain't all. He shows you the thief an' the liar an' the adulterer all
aroun' you, an' if you feel the shock of it an' the hate of it, it's
His voice tellin' you not to steal an' not to lie an' not to be
impure. You think only of money until you make a bad break an' loose
it all. That's His voice tellin' you that money ain't everything in
life. He puts opportunities befo' you, an' if you grasp 'em it's His
voice tellin' you to prosper an' grow fat in the land. No, He don't
speak out, but how clearly an' unerringly He does speak to them that
has learned to listen for His voice!
"I rode her across the river a hundred miles up in Marshall County,
Tennessee, and mated her to a young horse named Tom Hal. Every body
knows about him now, but God told me about him fust.
"Then I knowed jes' as well as I am settin' in this buggy that that
colt was gwinter give me back my little home an' a chance in life. Of
course, I told everybody 'bout it an' they all laughed at me--jes'
like they all laughed at Noah an' Abraham an' Lot an' Moses, an' if I
do say it--Jesus Christ. But thank God it didn't pester me no more'n
it did them."
"Well, the colt come ten years ago--an' I named him Ben Butler--cause
I hated old Ben Butler so. He had my oldest son shot in New Orleans
like he did many other rebel prisoners. But this was God's colt an'
God had told me to love my enemies an' do good to them that did
wrong to me, an' so I prayed over it an' named him Ben Butler, hopin'
that God 'ud let me love my enemy for the love I bore the colt. An'
He has."
Bud shook his head dubiously.
"He showed me I was wrong, Bud, to hate folks, an' when I tell you of
po' Cap'n Tom an' how good Gen. Butler was to him, you'll say so,
too.
"From the very start Ben Butler was a wonder. He came with fire in
his blood an' speed in his heels.
"An' I trained him. Yes--from the time I was Gen. Travis' overseer I
had always trained his hosses. I'm one of them preachers that
believes God intended the world sh'ud have the best hosses, as He
intended it sh'ud have the best men an' women. Take all His works, in
their fitness an' goodness, an' you'll see He never 'lowed for a
scrub an' a quitter anywhere. An' so when He gave me this tip on Ben
Butler's speed I done the rest.
"God gives us the tips of life, but He expects us to make them into
the dead cinches.
"Oh, they all laughed at us, of course, an' nicknamed the colt Mister
Isaacs, because, like Sarah's son, he came in answer to prayer. An'
when in his two-year-old form, I led him out of the stable one cold,
icy day, an' he was full of play an' r'ared an' fell an' knocked down
his hip, they said that 'ud fix Mister Isaacs.
"But it didn't pester me at all. I knowed God had done bigger things
in this world than fixin' a colt's hip, an' it didn't shake my faith.
I kept on prayin' an' kept on trainin'.
"Well, it soon told. His hip was down, but it didn't stop him from
flyin'. As a three-year-old he paced the Nashville half mile track in
one-one flat, an' though they offered me then an' there a thousand
dollars for Ben Butler, I told 'em no,--he was God's colt an' I
didn't need but half of that to raise the mortgage, an' he'd do that
the first time he turned round in a race.
"I drove him that race myself, pulled down the five hundred dollar
purse, refused all their fine offers for Ben Butler, an' me an' him's
been missionaryin' round here ever since."
"Great hoss--great!" said Bud, his eyes sparkling,--"allers told you
so! Think I'll get out and hug him."
This he did while the Bishop sat smiling. But in the embrace Ben
Butler planted a fore foot on Bud's great toe. Bud came back limping
and whimpering with pain.
"Now there, Bud," said the Bishop, consolingly. "God has spoken to
you right there."
"What 'ud He say?" asked Bud, looking scary again.
"Why, he said through Nature's law an' voice that you mustn't hug a
hoss if you don't want yo' toes tramped on."
"Who must you hug then?" asked Bud.
"Yo' wife, if you can't do no better," said the Bishop quietly.
"My wife's wussern a hoss," said Bud sadly--"she bites. I'm sorry you
didn't take that thar thousan' dollars for him," he said, looking at
his bleeding toe.
"Bud," said the old man sternly, "don't say that no mo'. It mou't
make me think you are one of them selfish dogs that thinks money'll
do anything. Then I'd hafter watch you, for I'd know you'd do
anything for money."
Bud crawled in rather crest-fallen, and they drove on.