The clergyman appeared almost immediately. He was a man about thirty, and looked like a farm laborer in Sunday clothes. Red-haired and freckled, with a half-vacant look in his eyes, he did not inspire me with sympathy; for a long time I could find no words, for I did not know what to say to this man, who possessed neither education, the wisdom of age, nor a knowledge of the human heart.
He remained standing in the centre of the room, self-conscious, like a provincial in the presence of the inhabitant of a large city, until I motioned him to take a chair.
Then he began his cross-examination.
"You have sent for me, sir? You are in trouble?"
"Yes."
"There is no happiness but in Jesus."
Although I was hankering after quite another sort of happiness, I did not contradict him, and the evangelist rambled on, uninterruptedly, monotonously, verbosely. The old tenets of the catechism lulled me gently to sleep, and the presence of a human being entering into spiritual relationship with my soul gave me new strength.
But the preacher, suddenly doubting my sincerity, interrupted his discourse with a question—
"Do you hold the true faith?"
"No," I replied, "but go on speaking, your words are doing me good...."