It is only the happy, ragged,
unconscious heathen that are looked out for in this world; the real ones
don't get any sympathy."
The fisherman paused.
"I should be glad to give you the first lesson in the code of salvation,"
I said--"that the fate of souls is not left to human hands."
"Oh, I've heard that formula somewhere before!" exclaimed the fisherman,
impatiently, with a little sneer in his laugh. "Why don't you tell me
that God will help me? Perhaps you will even remember me in your prayers,
some time."
At those last words an unbearable pang of self-conviction and remorse
shot through my heart. I, who had not felt greatly the need of any
supernatural aid, but rather that I was able to manage my own affairs
with becoming discretion--of what saving power and grace could I speak to
one who was weak enough to fall, and for whom there was no help in
himself? In the dark school-room I involuntarily lifted my hands to my
face. When I heard the fisherman's voice again, he had come a step or two
nearer to me down the aisle.
"Let me tell you what I was thinking about when you came in," he said, in
an altered tone. "Rather, how I was allowing my imagination to run away
with itself, for my own particular delectation.
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