"
He paused, his story finished. He drew the brim of his hat lower over
his eyes, and then he rose to his feet. His build was slim and
clean-cut. He was perhaps five feet ten inches in height, which was four
inches taller than the Little Missioner. His shoulders were of good
breadth, his waist and hips of an athletic slimness. But his clothes
hung with a certain looseness. His hands were unnaturally thin, and in
his face still hovered the shadows of sickness and of mental suffering.
Father Roland stood beside him now with eyes that shone with a deep
understanding. Under the sputter of the lamp above their heads the two
men clasped hands, and the Little Missioner's grip was like the grip of
iron.
"David, I've preached a strange code through the wilderness for many a
long year," he said, and his voice was vibrant with a strong emotion.
"I'm not Catholic and I'm not Church of England. I've got no religion
that wears a name. I'm simply Father Roland, and all these years I've
helped to bury the dead in the forest, an' nurse the sick, an' marry the
living, an' it may be that I've learned one thing better than most of
you who live down in civilization. And that's how to find yourself when
you're down an' out.
Pages:
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28