_11th May 1893._
There is another pleasure for me here. Sometimes one or other of our
simple, devoted, old ryots comes to see me--and their worshipful homage is
so unaffected! How much greater than I are they in the beautiful
simplicity and sincerity of their reverence. What if I am unworthy of
their veneration--their feeling loses nothing of its value.
I regard these grown-up children with the same kind of affection that I
have for little children--but there is also a difference. They are more
infantile still. Little children will grow up later on, but these big
children never.
A meek and radiantly simple soul shines through their worn and wrinkled,
old bodies. Little children are merely simple, they have not the
unquestioning, unwavering devotion of these. If there be any undercurrent
along which the souls of men may have communication with one another, then
my sincere blessing will surely reach and serve them.