"My Brothers," I Would Reply, "We Are All God's
Creatures, Believing In The One Great Spirit Who Created Us And
All things, who made this atom of dust that we call our world, a
tiny star amongst the hosts of
Heaven; and we, differing in
colours and in races, are striving through our short but weary
pilgrimage to the same high point; to the same mountain-top,
where we trust to meet when the journey shall be accomplished.
That mountain is steep, the country is desert; is there but one
path, or are there many? Your path and mine are different, but
with God's help they will lead us to the top. Shall we quarrel
over the well upon the thirsty way? or shall we drink together,
and be thankful for the cool waters, and strive to reach the end?
Drink from my water-skin when upon the desert we thirst together,
scorched by the same sun, exhausted by the same simoom, cooled by
the same night, until we sleep at the journey's end, and together
thank God, Christian and Mahometan, that we have reached our
home."
The good fakeers rejoiced in such simple explanations, and they
came to the conclusion that we were "all the same with a little
difference," thus we were the best of friends with all the
people. If not exactly a cure of their Mahometan souls, they
acknowledged that I held the key to their bowels, which were
entirely dependent upon my will, when the crowd of applicants
daily thronged my medicine chest, and I dispensed jalap, calomel,
opium, and tartar emetic.
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