And it is not unlikely that the picnic parties will fall out among themselves. That the Concert can agree and stay so, no one believes, not even the office-cat. The China war may turn out a European war, and China go free and save herself alive. Then, when the world settles down again, let us hope that the missionary’s industries will be restricted to his native land for all time to come. Is the man in the street concerned? I think he is. The time is grave. The future is blacker than has been any future which any person now living has tried to peer into.
X
We did not drop suddenly upon the subject, but wandered into it in a natural way—I and my pleasant new acquaintance. He said it “was about this way”—and began:
Toward nightfall on the 14th of January, 18—, I trudged into the poor little village of Hydesburg. I had walked far, that day; at least it seemed far for a half-starved boy of fifteen to have come. I had lain in a barn the night before, and been discovered and roughly driven away early in the morning. I had begged for food and shelter at three farm houses during the day, but had been refused. At the last place the children set the dogs on me and I was glad to get away with some loss of flesh and a part of my rags. I was very hungry, now, and very tired. The wounds made by the dogs were stiff and painful. I had been an outcast for a month and had fared harshly all the time. I was hopeless, now, and afraid to supplicate at any door.
The darkness drew on, the outlines of the village houses grew vague, the lights began to twinkle in the windows. The wind swept the street in furious gusts, driving a storm of snow and sleet before it. I stopped in front of a small house and leaned on the low fence, for there was a pleasant picture, for an outcast, visible through one of the windows. It was a family at supper. There was a roaring wood fire burning on the hearth; there was a cat curled up in a chair, asleep; there were some books on a what-not, some pictures on the walls; but mainly there was the smoking supper; a benevolent looking man of middle age sat at the foot of the table; a motherly dame at its head, and a little boy and girl at one side. It was like looking into paradise.
I never once thought of knocking at that door. I had had enough of cuffs and curses. I no longer believed that there were men in the world who would pity me or any other miserable creature.
It was very dark, now. A man who was running by behind an umbrella, struck against me with such a shock that both of us fell. He cursed me roundly as he gathered himself up, and gave me a good-bye kick as he left. It caught me on one of my dog-bites and made me cry out with the pain. Then he was lost in the darkness and the driving storm. But a sweet girlish voice said, “Poor thing, are you hurt?” and I saw a dim figure bending over me. I said—
“I only stopped just a minute. I was not meaning any harm, please.
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