The man stared.
"Find yourself," Roger said; "look at those little gardens over there that the children have made. Can you match them?"
"I reckon I've got somethin' else to do beside make gardens," drawled the man.
"What have you got to do that's better?" Roger demanded.
The man hesitated and Roger pressed his point. "Flowers for the children—crops for men—I'll wager you've a lot of land and don't know what to do with it. Let's try to make things grow."
"Us? You mean you and me, parson?"
"Yes. And while we plant and sow, we'll talk about the state of your soul." Roger reached out his hand to the lean and lank sinner.
And the lean and lank sinner took it, with something beginning to glow in the back of his eyes.
"I reckon I ain't got on to your scheme of salvation," he remarked shrewdly, "but somehow I have a feelin' that I ain't goin' to git through those days of plantin' crops with you without your plantin' somethin' in me that's bound to grow."
In such ways did Roger meet men, women and children, reaching out from his loneliness to their need, giving much and receiving more.