"Him that honoreth Me I will honor."
The last of a long stream of patients had just gone. It was five o'clock and the tired doctor turned his face once more towards the rear of the Mission Compound, where lay his beloved garden, his one source of relaxation after a day spent in fighting disease and death.
To-day as he reached the inner gate, something, shall we not more truly say, Someone, seemed to make him turn about, and he retraced his steps, he knew not why; back past the dispensary door he went till he had reached the main gateway.
* * *
Two men carrying a stretcher upon which lay a sick man, came staggering along the road leading past the Mission premises. They were evidently not in the best of humor, for as they mopped their streaming brows, frequent oaths escaped them. Suddenly, as the Mission gate was reached, they dropped their burden with a cruel thud upon the ground, for both bearers had caught sight of the foreigner coming up to the gate. This was by far too interesting a sight to miss, so both men squatted down opposite the gate to rest while they watched with keenest interest this foreign man of whom they had heard many wonderful stories, but whom they had never seen.
The doctor, with true instinct, walked straight to the sick man and raised the cloth covering his face. Hardened as he was to all kinds of "cases," what he saw evidently shocked him, for he gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Where are you taking him?" he asked the bearers.
"Home," was the reply.
"But do you know he will certainly die?"
"That's certain," was the answer. "We were just considering as we came up whether we would not just bury him as he is, for neither of us cares to stand for forty li more (14 miles) what we have stood those last forty li."