THE BACKSLIDING
two, Lord, an' a believer all my life! Send me home!"
There was a little rustling noise in the tree near the tiny clearing just before her; a low, soft heavenly sound.
"I know I'm goin' to die, Lord, only let me die at home! Don't do it here! I'm scairt, an' I'm weak, an' I'm too old to die in the woods! Jus' send me home. Lord; show me where the house is!"
The great sun suddenly sent a long, bright ray down across the open space, and as she looked at it, silver dove. With wings outspread, motionless, too bright to look at with steady eyes, it hovered there. It never fluttered its wings; it made no sound; in a ray from heaven it held its quiet position serenely and glistened from every tiniest feather.
The old woman's knees tottered beneath her. She held with both hands to the gnarled staff, and shuddered as she gazed.
"The Holy Ghost! The Holy Ghost!" she panted. The bird's eyes met hers, and she could not take her own away. To her blurred, smarting
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