For the first time in my life I heard such speech and it sounded strange to me. Here was a man who negated himself while I tried to ratify myself.
"Who is this master?" I asked. "The Lord?"
The old man smiled. "No," he answered. "It is some one nearer us. I do not want to name him. It is better that you yourself divine it. They believe strongest in Christ who meet Him first and have Him in their hearts; and it is by the strength of their faith that they raised Him to the height of Godhood."
He held me as before a closed door, and did not open it, or tell me what was hidden behind it. Impatience and pain grew in me and the words of the old man seemed dark. From time to time sparks flashed from his words, but they only blinded me and did not light the darkness in my soul. The night was moonlight, and black shadows surrounded us. The wood overhead crawled silently up to the mountains, and over the mountain tops, between the branches of the trees, the stars shone like lighted birds. A nearby stream murmured. From time to time an owl called in the wood, and over all the old man's words lived quietly in the night.
A strange old man! He caught a little insect which was crawling on his cheek and he held it in the palm of his hand and asked it:
"Where are you going, fool? Go, run in the grass, little creature."
I liked it, for I, too, loved all insects, and I was interested in the secret life which they led among the grass and the flowers.
I asked several questions of the old man, for I wanted him to speak plainly and more concisely, but I noticed that he evaded my problems. In fact, he jumped over them. I liked his lively face. The red reflection of the fire played lovingly over him, and everything vibrated with the peaceful joy which I so desired.
I envied him. He had lived twice as long as I, or even more, but his soul was clear.
"One man told me," I said to him, "that faith comes from imagination. What do you say?"