of immortality that alone seems worth while to me. Your Son
of Man walked from town to town in the hot sun and taught the people,
healed the multitude and yet had not where to lay his head to rest. His
church has lost His vigor. Your whole scheme hasn't enough action in it.
Your organization is too easy and too full of surface observances. It is
conducted with slipshod business methods and there is no force in it to
help me. If I join any church ever it will have to be a new one that can
compare with modern business in its efficiency. Your scheme of
redemption to immortality through an efficient mediation is perfectly
sound, but you don't back it up."

"The Church of Christ has stood, endured and done business for almost
two thousand years," he answered quietly. "It is in some ways all you
say of it, but it has at least proved its vitality. Why seek to found a
new organization with a new head and a new scheme of immortality if you
recognize this scheme as good? The place to reorganize a business is
from the inside, not the outside. These people _must_ get their vision
_now_. Will you come and help me?" As he spoke he looked again down into
the depths from which I had been trying to translate some of the
hieroglyphics to him and he held out his long powerful hand to me in an
entreaty that shook my very foundations.

"You make me want to do as you ask me, but I do not see what it is we
should strive for, what it is from which we should be saved. There are
tears in my eyes but do you want my emotions without my reason?" And I
asked my question with a quiver almost of timidity.

"No, both!" he answered me, as he dropped his hand and arm from their
attitude of entreaty, shook his head sadly and again turned from me and
looked out on the dim distance of Old Harpeth. Suddenly I had the
feeling of having a great door shut in my face, and a terror of being
left all alone in the world came over me. Without knowing what I did I
stretched out my hand and caught at his arm and moved closer to him,
suddenly cold in the sunshine.

"I'm frightened," I whispered, as I bowed my head on my hand, clutching
his arm.

"Poor little wandering, hunting lamb," he crooned to me as he laid a
tender hand on my bowed head. "Keep watch over her, Lord Jesus," he
prayed under his breath and then as suddenly as I had felt the fear I
found again my courage.

"That cry was woman to man, not child to priest. It is only honest to
tell you so," I said