He was eager to go.
'I'll do my best to get the priest,' he said, and was gone on his sixty
miles' race with death.
The long afternoon wore on, but before it was half gone I saw Nixon
could not win, and that the priest would be too late, so I sent for Mr.
Craig. From the moment he entered the room he took command of us all.
He was so simple, so manly, so tender, the hearts of the parents
instinctively turned to him.
As he was about to proceed with the baptism, the mother whispered to
Mrs. Mavor, who hesitatingly asked Mr. Craig if he would object to using
holy water.
'To me it is the same as any other,' he replied gravely.
'An' will he make the good sign?' asked the mother timidly.
And so the child was baptized by the Presbyterian minister with holy
water and with the sign of the cross. I don't suppose it was orthodox,
and it rendered chaotic some of my religious notions, but I thought more
of Craig that moment than ever before. He was more man than minister, or
perhaps he was so good a minister that day because so much a man.
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