ity will scale 'em and find a way
through.

The vile air of the low lands will float over into and contaminate the
pure air of the guarded pleasure gardens, and the evil germs will
carry disease, crime and death, no matter how many fountains and white
statutes and posies you may set up between. Envy, Discontent and
Revenge will break through the walls and meet Oppression, Insolence
and Injustice, and they will tear and rend each other. They always
have and always will. Robert Strong, instead of buildin' up that wall,
spends his strength in tearin' it down and settin' on its crumblin'
ruins the white flowers of Love and Peace.

Holdin' Oppression and Injustice back with a hard bit and makin' 'em
behave, makin' Envy and Hatred sheath their claws some as a cat will
when it is warm and happy. He tears down mouldy walls and lets the
sunshine in. Pullin' up what bad-smellin' weeds he can in the gardens
of the poor, and transplantin' some of the overcrowded posy beds of
the rich into the bare sile, makin' 'em both look better and do
better. I set store by him. But to resoom:

CHAPTER XXXII

Amongst my letters wuz one from Evangeline Noble tellin' of her safe
arrival in Africa and of the beginning of her work there, some like
strikin' a match to light a lamp in a dark suller, but different from
that because the light she lit wuz liable to light other lamps, and so
on and on and on till no tellin' what a glorious brilliance would
shine from the one little rushlight she wuz kindlin'. She felt it, she
wuz happy with that best kind of happiness, doin' good. She spoke of
Cousin John Richard, too; he wuz not in the same place she wuz, but
she hearn of him often, for his life wuz like a vase filled with the
precious ointment broke at the feet of Jesus. Broken in a earthly
sense, but the rich aroma sweetened the whole air about and ascended
to the very heavens.

A missionary she knew had seen him just before she wrote me. He wuz
working, giving his life and finding it again, useful, happy,
beloved. Not a success in a worldly way; Mudd-Weakdew would have
called it a dead failure. In place of a palace, Cousin John
Richard could not call even the poor ruff that sheltered him his own.
Instead of a retinue of servants, Cousin John Richard worked
diligently with his hands to earn his daily bread; instead of
stocks and bonds bringing him rich revenues, he had only the title
deeds of the house of many mansions, and Mudd-Weakdew would