The pastor's eyes clouded. "Confess?"
I drew him out the back door of the shop and up the stairs to the dining room.
"I confess that I too am searching for something." The pastor's face was now wrinkled with a frown. "Would you be willing to take a Jewish mother and her baby into your home? They will almost certainly be arrested otherwise."
Color drained from the man's face. He took a step back from me. "Miss ten Boom! I do hope you're not involved with any of the this illegal concealment and undercover business. It's just not safe! Think of your father! And your sister--she's never been strong!"
On impulse I told the pastor to wait and ran upstairs. Betsie had put the newcomers in Willem's old room, the farthest from windows on the street. I asked the mother's permission to borrow the infant: the little thing weighed hardly anything in my arms.
Back in the dining room I pulled back the coverlet from the baby's face.
There was a long silence. The man bent forward, his hand in spite of himself reaching for the tiny first curled round the blanket. For a moment I saw compassion and fear struggle in his face. Then he straightened. "No. Definitely not. We could lose our lives for that Jewish child!"
Unseen by either of us, Father had appeared in the doorway. "Give the child to me, Corrie," he said.
Father held the baby close, his white beard brushing its cheek, looking into the little face with eyes as blue and innocent as the baby's own. At last he looked up at the pastor. "You say we could lose our lives for this child. I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family.""
-- Corrie Ten Boom, "The Hiding Place"