JVhen the Indians reached the church, they formed
a half circle in front of the missionary. How would they
react when he had nothing to offer them on Christmas Eve?
proudly told how Christians came to
the aid of their needy brethren at
Christmas. This would happen in Cura
chos, he promised the Indians. There
could be none more needy than they.
Peter saw Diego on the porch of his
store, which was also the local post
office. Diego was not a native of the
valley. He was Spanish, not Indian, he
had announced the first time they met.
Diego had been educated on the coast
and even spoke a little English as
proof. He had not been encouraging
when the young minister arrived a few
months earlier.
"You think you bring the word of
God to these heathen, but you will find
they listen to you only when you have
something to give," Diego warned. "In
their hearts, these people keep the old
ways. Up in the mountains, sacrifices
to the gods still go on. They will turn on
you when your purse is empty."
These words echoed through Peter's
memory as he approached the store.
If no money came today, what would the
people do? It was too late to think
about that now. His sermon last week
made it clear they could expect help
help that had not yet arrived.
"Hola, Sefior Morgan," Diego shouted
as Peter reached the store. "A big day,
eh? Christmas Eve." .
"Yes, a big day," Peter agreed. "I
hope to see you at our services to
morrow." Diego did not attend church.
He spent his free time drinking a con
coction he distilled in back of the store.
ton family. Carefully opening the enve
lope to avoid tearing a check, Peter re
moved two written pages. A five-dollar
bill was attached with a paper clip.
The scrawled message from Mrs.
Bradley contained conventional Christ
mas greetings, and a few remarks about
the many financial obligations one faced
at this time of year.
"I notice your raincoat is in very un
happy condition, mi amigo," said Diego,
eyeing the bill. "It is not proper that a
man in your position go about in
crummy coat. Your fine boots should
have a good companion. As it happens,
I have a fine raincoat special on sale
for you, only 12 dollar."
"I haven't got 12 dollars," murmured
Peter, thinking of the futility of divid
ing five dollars among so many.
"A five-dollar down payment, rest
when-I-catch-you deal would be O.K.,"
Diego said through a toothy grin. "After
all, who can I trust more?"
"Sorry," Peter replied, shoving the
mail into his pocket. "I must have good
boots, but I can do without a new coat."
As he was about to leave, Diego put
a hand on his arm. The little store
keeper no longer smiled. "There is
something strange1 going on in this
valley, something very strange."
Peter studied the man, who was more
serious than he had ever seen him.
Perhaps even afraid, Peter thought.
"I am not one of them," Diego em
phasized, "so I do not know their se
crets. But the Indians are planning
something. I can feel it in the air. Re-
FICTION
by James C. Miller
"I will try," he lied. "I may have . . .
how you say . . . other plans? Good
news for you, though. Three letters
from the States."
He handed the minister the letters.
With hands trembling, Peter opened
the first. A clothing firm in Chicago an
nounced a "Post-Christmas Sale" on
clerical suits and coats. The second was
a Christmas card from a classmate. Peter
had no family to write to him.
The feminine handwriting on the
third letter was unfamiliar, but the
return address filled Peter with hope.
The Bradleys were a wealthy old Bos-
member, I warned you before that these
people are savages, and now that you
have no money..."
"I have complete faith in my congre
gation," broke in Peter, as he turned
and left.
On the way back to the mission,
Peter doubted for the first time his
calling as a missionary. He had done
nothing for his people, he told himself.
He had failed to keep his promise to
them. They had every reason to desert
him and his message.
When he came to the church, he went
in and fell to his knees. He prayed not
that God send money, but that He send
a worthy man- to take his place. His
letter of resignation would be on the
way to the bishop in the morning.
' It was dark when he saw the torches
approaching. He went to .the door and
watched them coming single file up the
path from the valley. Ancient pagan "
processions came to mind as they ap
proached. For an instant, Peter wanted
to flee, but he prayed for courage.
As they came closer, Peter could see
that each family had a torch carried by
the head of the household. When they
reached the "church, they formed a half
circle at the entrance. No one spoke.
Finally, old Manuel stepped forward.
The torch he held sent strange shadows
racing across the ancient crevices of
his face. Manuel would remember the'
old ways and the old gods.
"We have listened to your words," the
old man rasped in careful Spanish. "You
have told us that at this time it is
proper for Christians to give of them
selves to help brothers in need. We have
come to see that what you have told us
is carried out."
Peter wanted to help these people more
than he had ever wanted anything.
What would happen to him when they
found out he could not keep his promise
no longer mattered. The effect it would
have on their faith was all-important.
"As you know, we are not rich," con
tinued Manuel. "But we want to be true
Christians. Our gifts for our brothers
are not of great worth, but they come
from the heart."
Manuel bent slowly and placed a
copper bracelet on the step of the
church. Peter watched the head of each
family come, torch in hand, to add his
gift to the pile. There were rugs and
baskets and woven hats and an occa
sional piece of jewelry. Not until many
had come did Peter realize that the
people of Curachos were actually giving
to help others.
"But how will you live?" Peter asked
when the last torch had passed.
"You are not long in the valley, my
son," replied Manuel softly. "We have
had great problems in the past, but we
have "survived.. Never, back to the time
of my father's father, has one of us
perished for want of food. Your book
tells us the Lord will provide. He sends
trials to strengthen our bodies and
cleanse our souls. The sun will shine
again and there will be .laughter."
After the last torch had disappeared
down the trail, Peter added the five
dollar bill to the Christmas offerings
from the people of Curachos. Then he
added a pair of muddy boots, only four
months old but already well worn.
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