garden flowers. God to be real must be a God of Mercy. Men of the present day shape everything to suit themselves. They even would remake God into the strange image they would wish Him to be.
All through the years Hung Long Tom had watched over Scobee. He had raised him from babyhood. The lovely mother of Scobee had died in giving birth to him. Never had he beheld her face, never had he known the warm clasp of her arms. And yet by some strange twist of fate he had seemed to always have her close to him. His mother had built the house in which he dwelt. The plans she had made and every detail of the building had been under her supervision. And as she walked through the halls and rooms she sang snatches of songs that were caught by the walls and absorbed even as fields absorb moisture. Sometimes she told the house all the dreams which she had for the baby that was to come. The house listened and was in sympathy with her. Then, as her boy was born, she died. Her
physical person was carried away and buried
