new, and all in good repair.
A little beyond was a calf tied to a post. It was lying down, its legs
still being largely experimental--a pitifully new calf, shapeless and
forlorn.

The mother was nowhere around. Sick in some far meadow, perhaps, sick
of making milk for men.

"That's a veal calf," Beth said.

The note in her voice called his eyes. Something which the sight
suggested was hateful to her. Bedient dismounted and led his chestnut
mare up to the little thing, which stared, tranced in hope and fear.
The mare dropped her muzzle benignantly. She understood and became
self-conscious and uncomfortable. One of a group of children near the
farmhouse behind them called:

"Show off! Show off!"

"They sell its rightful food," Beth said, "and feed the poor little
thing on cheaper stuff until it hardens for the butcher. Men are so big
with their business."

"There are veal calves tied to so many posts on the world's highway,"
Bedient said slowly.

"When I was younger," Beth went on, "and used to read about the men who
had done great creative things, I often found that they had to keep
away from men and crowds, lest they perish from much pitying, dissipate
their forces in wide, aimless outpourings of pity, which men and the
systems of men called from them. Then--this was long ago--I used to
think this a silly affectation, but I have come to understand."

"Of course, you would come to understand," Bedient said.

"Men who do great things are much alone," she continued. "They become
sensitive to sights and sounds and odors--they are so alive, even
physically. The downtown man puts on an armor. He must, or could not
stay. The world seethes with agony--for him who can see."

"That is what made the sacrifice of the Christ," Bedient declared.
"Every day--he died from the sights on the world's highway----"

They looked back.

"It was not the Cross and the Spear, but the haggard agony of His Face
that night on Gethsemane that brings to me the realization of the
greatness of His suffering," he added.

"And the disciples were too sleepy to watch and pray with him----"

"How gladly would the women have answered His need for human
companionship that night!" he exclaimed. "But it was not so ordained.
It was His hour alone, the most pregnant hour in the world's history."

They reached the crest of a fine hill at noon, and dismounted in the
shade of three big elms. They could see small towns in the valley
distances, an