He now began his descent, taking a different route from that by which he had come, because it seemed to be shorter. He soon found, however, that the path led around the brow of the hill to the opposite side. As he was about to retrace his steps his eye rested upon a portion of the village which from the plateau he had not seen.
Below him there was a small valley, separated from the main portion of the town by a sharp declivity. Through this a considerable stream went foaming and dashing to the bay no great distance off. Along the banks of the stream five large buildings with their massive chimneys were built; and clustered about them were a half hundred or more tenement houses, exactly alike in size and hue. Mr. Carleton had no need to read the huge white letters on the roofs of the factories to know that they were the Black Forge Woolen Mills.
There came directly to his mind a conversation he had held only the Sunday before with Mr. Bacon, the superintendent of the mills. He had preached that morning on Christ's work in foreign lands. When he came down from the pulpit, Mr. Bacon had shaken hands with him, saying:
"Well, pastor, I have no objection to Christian work among the heathen. In fact I believe in it; but if there ever was a heathen field that needed immediate cultivation, we have it down at Black Forge Mills."
"Have you done your duty by it, then, my brother?" Mr. Carleton had asked.
Mr. Bacon, shrugging his shoulders, had replied:
"We are told not to cast our pearls before swine."
"But are you sure they are all swine?" the pastor had quickly asked; "and are our skirts clear from their blood until as faithful watchmen we have warned those people of their danger?"
Mr. Bacon at once had answered:
"You are right, Brother Carleton; and for a long time I have felt that they should have some religious privileges. If they won't come to us, we must take the gospel to them. Come down, and look over the ground at an early day, and we will see what can be done."