E are tears for Mr. Barclay, large, man's size, soul-healing
tears--tears of repentance; not for the rich Mr. Barclay, the proud Mr.
Barclay, the powerful, man-hating, God-defying Mr. Barclay of Sycamore
Ridge, but for John Barclay, a contrite man, the humblest in all the
kingdom. And as John Barclay let his soul rise with the swelling music,
he felt the solace of a great peace in his heart; he turned his wet face
upward and cried, "Oh, mother, mother, I feel like a child!" Then Mary
Barclay knew that her son had let Him in, knew in her own heart all the
joy there is in heaven over one sinner that repenteth. CHAPTER XXIX It
is written in the Book that holds the wisdom of our race that one who is
reborn into the Kingdom of God, enters as a little child. It is there in
black and white, yet few people get the idea into their consciousnesses.
They expect regeneration to produce an upright man. God knows better
than that. And we should know better too when it is written down for us.
And so you good people who expect to see John Barclay turn rightabout
face on the habits of a lifetime are to be disappointed. For a little
child stumbles and falls and goes the wrong way many times before it
learns the way of life. There came days after that summer night of 1904,
when John Barclay fell--days when he would sneak into the stenographers'
room in his office in the City and tear up some letter he had dictated,
when he would send a telegram annulling an order, when he would find
himself cheating and gouging his competitors or his business
associates,--even days when he had not the moral courage to retrace his
steps although he knew he was wrong. Shame put her brand on his heart,
and his face showed to those who watched it closely--and there were
scores of fellow-gamblers at the game with him, whose profits came from
watching his fac
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