“Where is he, Nella-Rose?” Something seemed tightening around Truedale’s heart.
“Us-all don’t know; he left it written on his door.”
“Where is there another minister, Nella-Rose?”
“There is no other.”
“This is absurd—of course there is another. We must start at once and find him.”
“Listen!” The face upon Truedale’s breast was lifted. “You hear that?”
“Yes. What is it?” Truedale was alarmed.
“It means that the little streams are rivers; it means that the trails are full of rocks and trees; it means”—the words sank to an awed whisper—“it means that we must fight for what we-all want to keep.”
“Good God! Nella-Rose, but where can I take you?”
“There is no place—but here.”