once seen a pack of greasy "playing-cards," and it seemed to him to contain the quintessence of sin.If he had desired to defy all Divine law and outrage all human society, he felt that he could do it by shuffling them.And he was quite right.The two bad boys enjoyed in stealth their scandalous pastime, because they knew it was the most wicked thing they could do.If it had been as sinless as playing marbles, they would n't have cared for it.John sometimes drove past a brown, tumble-down farmhouse, whose shiftless inhabitants, it was said, were card-playing people; and it is impossible to describe how wicked that house appeared to John.He almost expected to see its shingles stand on end.In the old New England one could not in any other way so express his contempt of all holy and orderly life as by playing cards for amusement.
There was no element of Christmas in John's life, any more than there was of Easter; and probably nobody about him could have explained Easter; and he escaped all the demoralization attending Christmas gifts.Indeed, he never had any presents of any kind, either on his birthday or any other day.He expected nothing that he did not earn, or make in the way of "trade" with another boy.He was taught to work for what he received.He even earned, as I said, the extra holidays of the day after the Fourth and the day after Thanksgiving.
Of the free grace and gifts of Christmas he had no conception.The single and melancholy association he had with it was the quaking hymn which his grandfather used to sing in a cracked and quavering voice:
"While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground."The "glory" that "shone around" at the end of it--the doleful voice always repeating, "and glory shone around "--made John as miserable as "Hark! from the tombs." It was all one dreary expectation of something uncomfortable.It was, in short, "religion." You'd got to have it some time; that John believed.But it lay in his unthinking mind to put off the "Hark! from the tombs" enjoyment as long as possible.He experienced a kind of delightful wickedness in indulging his dislike of hymns and of Sunday.
John was not a model boy, but I cannot exactly define in what his wickedness consisted.He had no inclination to steal, nor much to lie; and he despised "meanness" and stinginess, and had a chivalrous feeling toward little girls.Probably it never occurred to him that there was any virtue in not stealing and lying, for honesty and veracity were in the atmosphere about him.He hated work, and he "got mad" easily; but he did work, and he was always ashamed when he was over his fit of passion.In short, you couldn't find a much better wicked boy than John.
When the "revival" came, therefore, one summer, John was in a quandary.Sunday meeting and Sunday-school he did n't mind; they were a part of regular life, and only temporarily interrupted a boy's pleasures.But when there began to be evening meetings at the different houses, a new element came into affairs.There was a kind of solemnity over the community, and a seriousness in all faces.At first these twilight assemblies offered a little relief to the monotony of farm life; and John liked to meet the boys and girls, and to watch the older people coming in, dressed in their second best.Ithink John's imagination was worked upon by the sweet and mournful hymns that were discordantly sung in the stiff old parlors.There was a suggestion of Sunday, and sanctity too, in the odor of caraway-seed that pervaded the room.The windows were wide open also, and the scent of June roses came in, with all the languishing sounds of a summer night.All the little boys had a scared look, but the little girls were never so pretty and demure as in this their susceptible seriousness.If John saw a boy who did not come to the evening meeting, but was wandering off with his sling down the meadow, looking for frogs, maybe, that boy seemed to him a monster of wickedness.
After a time, as the meetings continued, John fell also under the general impression of fright and seriousness.All the talk was of "getting religion," and he heard over and over again that the probability was if he did not get it now, he never would.The chance did not come often, and if this offer was not improved, John would be given over to hardness of heart.His obstinacy would show that he was not one of the elect.John fancied that he could feel his heart hardening, and he began to look with a wistful anxiety into the faces of the Christians to see what were the visible signs of being one of the elect.John put on a good deal of a manner that he "did n't care," and he never admitted his disquiet by asking any questions or standing up in meeting to be prayed for.But he did care.He heard all the time that all he had to do was to repent and believe.But there was nothing that he doubted, and he was perfectly willing to repent if he could think of anything to repent of.