One of the trunks was opened, and gave ample proof of Denis's skill in providing for travelling comfort. There was a store of small tin canisters containing a variety of articles of food, some of them unknown even by name to the missionary's son. Truffles, turtles, oysters, anchovies, potted game, tongues, and pickles, gave a choice of delicacies to Walter, only perplexing by its abundance. He quickly prepared a meal, while Denis, stretched on the ground, amused himself by writing notes of his journey, or refreshed himself with a cigar.
"I say, who are these advancing?" he playfully cried, as a party of Afghan women carrying baskets of fruit appeared descending the road; "not very formidable opponents, I guess, nor carrying very terrible weapons. Walter, are you prepared for a charge!"
The women stopped to stare at the Feringhee strangers. Denis hardly needed an interpreter; he held up a bag and jingled rupees, then signed to the women to put down their baskets, and pointed significantly towards his own mouth.
"I'm getting on with the language bravely!" Denis gaily cried. "Walter, these women understand my questions without my speaking a word."
The baskets were quickly emptied of the fruit for which Kabul is famous. Denis, notwithstanding his companion's remonstrances, paid for his purchases a price which astonished the Afghans.
"Some great Feringhee lord!" they remarked to each other.
The dinner was by this time ready. "Let's set to!" cried Denis, whose appetite was keen.
Again recurred the difficulty which, trifling as it may appear, is one that so often meets the Christian on his first mingling with the world, that to sensitive minds it becomes a real cross. Walter had always been accustomed to return thanks before meals from the time when his mother had first put his little hands together, and he had lisped after her the words which his lips could hardly frame. So strong had the habit become, that before dinner on the previous evening Walter had said grace as a matter of course at his own board, without even thinking whether his guest could object. He knew Denis better now; he had met the supercilious glance which had been to him like a sting. Was there any need to obtrude his religion on one who could not understand it? Was not faith a private matter between a man and his God? So whispered the ever-ready Tempter. But a few Scripture words recurred to the mind of the youth—Let your light shine before men; and with an effort which cost Walter more than it would have done to face a real danger, in a low, but audible voice he said, "Thanks to God for all His mercies bestowed through Christ our Lord."
"He who prepares the meal considers, I suppose, that he should finish off by saying the grace," observed Denis lightly. "As for me, I never pretend to be one of your saints."
It is remarkable how many men seem to plume themselves on making no profession of religion, as if hypocrisy were the only vice to be shunned. We do not admire a beggar for parading his rags, and declaring that he does not profess to be rich; and who is so destitute as he who has no portion in the world to come! We do not think the debt of gratitude to a bountiful father repaid by his son's openly declaring that he neither loves nor honours his parent! Surely those who with self-complacency avow that they make no profession of religion, and never pretend to be saints, may be reckoned amongst such as "glory in their shame."