"And working every one else, especially you. Well, I assume that's his
way. I'd like you to tell him that we're building a new church because
he did not seem to care for the other one."
"Does that fall within the office of an engineer?" said Belding
doubtfully.
"Unquestionably. Your profession does many different things by many
different methods. By the way, I hear we are to have iron works in St.
Marys."
"Yes, thanks to Fisette."
"It's some years since Mr. Clark told me he had reason to believe there
was iron in the district. Now I hope that this prophet will have honor
in his own country."
A few minutes later the young people rose to go. The bishop followed
them to the gate, and Elsie felt the benediction of his kiss on her
forehead. He watched them from his veranda till, with something of a
sigh, he collected the manuscript at his feet, put it away and turned
to next Sunday's sermon. He looked at this thoughtfully, then walking
slowly into his study laid it also away. His face was suddenly
careworn. He felt unduly oppressed by the burdens of his office, and
there came back on him, as it often did, like a flood, the
consciousness that it was for him by personal effort to raise half the
money needed to pay his forty missionaries. Should he fail, they went
without. Constantly aware of their simple faith, he knew also that
they were poorly fed and lacked any provision for old age.
Involuntarily he began to compare their lot with that of the magnetic
Clark, and was confronted with an eternal problem. Why should faith
and sacrificial loyalty fare so much more poorly than the mechanical
and constructive nature? Clark had, apparently, the world at his feet,
but what comfort and security was there for brave and spiritual souls,
and for what baffling reason were they robbed of present reward?
He pondered this deeply, and, raising his troubled eyes, looked fixedly
at a large print of the Sistine Madonna that hung on the study wall
just opposite his desk. As he gazed at its ineffable tenderness there
came to him a slow surcease of strain. Flotsam and jetsam of eternity
they might all be, his missionaries and Clark and himself, but
underneath were the ever-lasting arms, on which,--and he thanked God
for this,--some had already learned to lean. There flashed into his
mind his own arrival at St. Marys, the northern center of his vast
diocese; the joy with which the neighboring Indian tribes had welcomed
him and the name "The Rising Sun" which they had forthwith given him.
They had looked forward, they said, to his coming as to morning after
the darkness of night. The reflection grew in his mind and brought
with it hope and renewed courage.