“Thank you, Tom. You are a true friend. I shall not forget this.”
When Tom had gone the missionary returned to his seat by the table. He did not pick up his pen as usual, but sat staring straight before him. Tom’s presence had brought back memories of other days when morning by morning Indians had come to his house on various missions, and they had always received a hearty welcome. They needed him then, but he needed them now. This was a new and startling idea. He wondered why he had never thought of it before. Had he done too much for the Indians, and had not allowed them to do enough for him? “Service for others” had always been his motto, and he had given of himself without stint. And the sense of responsibility, and of giving without receiving, had been an unspeakable joy. But had he thus taught the natives? Sadly he was forced to confess to himself that he had not. He had presented to them a distorted view of the life and teaching of the Great Master. Their characters, accordingly, had not been developed, and in the time of temptation they had fallen away.
“Forgive me, Lord! forgive me!” he murmured. “I did it unwittingly. I am not worthy to be called Thy servant. But now my eyes are opened and I see. Lord, give me another chance. Cast me not away in my old age, until I show to Thy wandering ones the true glory of loving and unselfish service.”
He ceased, and his grey eyes glowed anew with the light of a great resolve. Charles Norris, the missionary, had made a wonderful discovery. It came to him in a moment of time, but it had taken long years of toil and hardship, of sorrow and failure, to bring it to pass.
He was aroused from his reverie by a heavy knock
