‘Why?’ I repeated a little hotly. ‘You think this is better?’
‘Nazareth was good enough for the Lord of glory,’ he answered, with a smile none too bright; but it drew my heart to him, and my heat was gone.
‘How long will she stay?’ I asked.
‘Till her work is done,’ he replied.
‘And when will that be?’ I asked impatiently.
‘When God chooses,’ he answered gravely; ‘and don’t you ever think but that it is worth while. One value of work is not that crowds stare at it. Read history, man!’
He rose abruptly and began to walk about. ‘And don’t miss the whole meaning of the Life that lies at the foundation of your religion. Yes,’ he added to himself, ‘the work is worth doing—worth even her doing.’
I could not think so then, but the light of the after years proved him wiser than I. A man, to see far, must climb to some height, and I was too much upon the plain in those days to catch even a glimpse of distant sunlit uplands of triumphant achievement that lie beyond the valley of self-sacrifice.