The herder looked at Christianson and Christianson looked at the herder. The herder shook his head.
Christianson sat down again in his great chair.
“I tell you,” said Björk solemnly, “I see that ‘promised land’ plainer than ever I saw Kwimkuk. Plainer”—he raised his voice—“than I see you two.”
But he saw them very plainly. His look leaped from one face to the other, and rage gathered on his own.
“You sit there like stone. You are deaf. You are like dead men. I—I—” He looked about the room wildly as if he had forgotten where the door was. “I would go alone, but I must have provisions. I must have help with the boat—help with the—”
“Y—yes, yes,” stuttered the old missionary.
“And the angel said, ‘Go first to Christianson.’”
“Yes, yes. Of course, I—”
“‘But tarry not,’ said the voice. ‘If Christianson receive not the good tidings, go take the news to another.’” He seemed now to locate the door. He made two steps in that direction, saying, “Me—I obey the voice.”