"What are the tools?" I asked.
"Don't you think there are different tools for different kinds of work?" he said. "Look how many tools have been used here. There is the mark of a heavy crowbar, which has severed the block from the side of the rock. And look here at this stone which has been left on the ground, you can see the mark of the pick, with which the block was brought a little into shape. And here you can see the marks of the finer tools, the chisels, which were used to give the necessary finish to the stones."
"And God's tools?" I said.
"Are just as varied, are they not? A great trouble comes—a heavy blow like the great crowbar, and separates us from the world. But, after that, day by day, and hour by hour, God must work upon us with His finer tools—small vexations, little crosses, little losses, home troubles; all these, I think, are God's tools, making us ready for a place in the Temple. Don't you think it is a wonderful comfort to look upon worries and cares as God's tools?"
"Yes," I said, "that is a nice thought."
"And soon," said Mr. Stanley, "the work will be finished, and then we shall leave the dark quarry behind for ever, and be carried to our place in the sunshine and light of the glorious Temple above. So, you see, I was not wrong in saying that this deserted quarry was a comforting place; you will think of it sometimes, will you not?"
"Indeed I shall," I said.
"And next time a trouble comes which you cannot understand, and which seems so very hard to bear, just say to yourself, 'It is God's chisel at work upon me.'"
I had much to tell Evelyn when I came back to the hotel, and much, very much, to treasure up in my own heart for use in days to come.
Mr. Stanley got for me a piece of stone from the walls of the quarry, with the marks of the chisel upon it, and I put it carefully away, with my spray of olive-leaves.