There is a man here who has found peace. I made a pilgrimage to his
house. A boy from the village went with me part of the way up the
mountain. The Pacific was presently visible upon the right hand, and a
spacious verdant valley on the left. I lingered a moment on the trail,
rejoicing in the quiet splendour, and then noticed a vine-clad hut
still farther up the slope.
"That's Mr. Dreve's cabin," the boy said.
I learned from him that this man Dreve was well-loved in the village
and in the big city beyond; that he was a very different man now
from the one who had come here a few years ago; that he was torn and
maddened then, cursing God, but too stubborn to kill himself.
"What helped him?" said I, because the boy had paused.
"Well, it wasn't the climate," he answered.