and his face which had grown old before its time, were constantly in my mind. And I kept on hearing his words: “Anyone would think so if he didn’t know!”
I travelled on one day, two days. Ahead now I saw a good sized, well built village and a church. The village extended considerable distance and the fields that stretched between the buildings, were extensive, too. This was no new village, the work of pioneers. The farms were old and well developed. Upon this land many struggles for existence had taken place, many a life had been sacrificed. Upon these unpromising fields even in ancient times the same struggle had been going on, for generations and generations, in order that people of today might enjoy the result. They who lived here now were reaping reward from the suffering, the tears, the want, the oppression of them who had struggled and died. Perhaps none of these who had died had paid their interest to the pastor.
The prosperous looking church stood upon a hill, on a thread of land, bordering a long, indented arm of the sea. Pine woods shadowed it on all sides. A little farther ahead, upon a piece of land projecting into the water stood the elegant home of the pastor, in the midst of a park. My business led me to call upon the pastor. He was a stately figure. And in his home there was every luxury that modem civilization can provide.
The pastor was sitting in an expensive, richly upholstered chair. He was tall, well built. No one could say that he had grown old before his time. He was
