It was the
daily train from the East, arriving at the Sagalac River.
"These things must be," he said aloud as he looked. While he lost himself
again in reminiscence, a young man came driving across the plains,
passing beneath where he stood. The young man's face and figure suggested
power. In his buggy was a fishing-rod.
His hat was pulled down over his eyes, but he was humming cheerfully to
himself. When he saw the priest, he raised his hat respectfully, yet with
an air of equality.
"Good day, Monseigneur" (this honour of the Church had come at last to
the aged missionary), he said warmly. "Good day--good day!"
The priest raised his hat and murmured the name, "Ingolby." As the
distance grew between them, he said sadly: "These are the men who change
the West, who seize it, and divide it, and make it their own--
"'I will rejoice, and divide Sichem: and mete out the valley of
Succoth.'
"Hush! Hush!" he said to himself in reproach. "These things must be. The
country must be opened up. That is why I came--to bring the Truth before
the trader."
Now another traveller came riding out of Lebanon towards him, galloping
his horse up-hill and down. He also was young, but nothing about him
suggested power, only self-indulgence.
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