“Sho’s yo’ bo’n I did, Honey.”
“I know you did, Reuben, and ‘without a doubt in your heart,’” said Hernando.
“Ob co’se; an’ along comes Doctah Herschel!”
“You blessed old Reuben!” said Eletheer, giving his arm a squeeze. “I believe you can do anything; but wouldn’t Dr. Herschel have come anyway?”
“Dat am ezackly de p’int, Honey. De good Lawd already done His part. He done gib Doctah Herschel de talent an’ de wisdom to go sperimentin’ an’ projeckin’ wif dat bery ge’m till he found a cuah in ‘Old Ninety-Nine’s’ will. Yes, Honey, he was bo’n fo’ dis bery place and de good Lawd sent him.”
“You mean, Reuben,” said Hernando, “that our every need is met.”
“Yes, Massa, when we’se willin’!”
“I agree with you,” Hernando added, “and it is becoming more and more clear what I have been in training for: Dr. Herschel proposes founding a hospital for lepers at Hong Kong. It will need intelligent supervision and my own case, together with a knowledge of Chinese acquired at Shushan, seems to have fitted me for just that work.”
“It do look as if yo’d been specially ’lected to dat mission. De flesh-pots ob Egypt don’t tempt yo’ no mo’; de Red Sea am behin’ yo’ an’ yo’ ken show dem po’ heathens by pussunel ’sperience dat de desert an’ mountains am jes’ dis side ob de Promised Lan’; but, Massa,” here Reuben’s voice vibrated like a deep-toned bell, “de good Lawd wants His chillen to be happy, to be de’ bery bestest selbes. He done made eberyt’ing good jes’ a pu’pose fo’ dem to use. De Good Book says,—‘Happy am de man dat findeth wisdom, an’ de man dat getteth undastandin’’—‘All huh ways am ways ob pleasantness, an’ all huh paths am peace.’ Yo’se plumb kuahed now, got back to de fo’cks ob de road an’ de’s on’y two, de right one an’ de wrong one; an’ onless de one p’intin’ to Hong Kong ansahs de call f’um de bery bottom ob yo’ hea’t, onless dat ansah comes so natrel-like dat it don’t take no strainin’ to go, yo’ won’t fin’ wisdom dat-away an’ it aint de path ob peace.” After a pause he resumed: “I reckon dat strainin’ am f’um de Debbil. Hit makes sich a roarin’ in de ea’s dat we can’t heah de ‘still small voice’ allus a-tellin’ de truf. Yes,” he concluded, “dat’s strainin’ an’ de p’int.”
Hernando gave an imperceptible start. “Cured.” Yes, he was cured, had the right to a place beside other men in this world of affairs. A right good old world it was, too, with its triumphs and defeats, its joys and its sorrows, its “marryings and giving in marriage!” “Cured!” What hopes that word awoke in him, thrilling him with a sweetness that defied analysis. Had the wise man really found wisdom, and were all her ways “ways of pleasantness and all her paths peace”? Why, oh, why did this old world of unrest, of human desires still call to him! Had he not renounced it that he might win a better? Surely it could have no claims on him now. Yet a wave almost of resentment surged over him at the thought.