And there above one of the gates of Mahanaim the
voice of his weeping arose when he heard the news of the death of
his strange misguided boy.
"Time passed on and the Israelites turned from the God of heaven
to worship at the shrines of other gods. Then, to punish them for
their sin God sent a strange invader into these mountains who
carried away the people by thousands into cruel captivity in a
land far toward the sun-rising.
"Later the Romans came and planted olive trees and built fine
cities and established enduring roads. But Rome is fallen, and
where she moved in power and splendor ruin only remains, and the
unambitious, ignorant Bedouin feeds his flock and lives in
idleness amidst broken down terraces and thorn-covered fertile
soil. Desolate! Yes, dark is the picture. But, what of the night?
Take your place again on the 'watch-tower of Gilead' and scan well
the horizon. Yes, it is well; the morning cometh!"
Having given myself up to reverie and to communing with the SPIRIT
OF HISTORY, as it were, I was for a time forgetful of my
surroundings. The twilight had deepened when I again turned my
thoughts to the village and its people. I look up at some of the
houses near me and see a number of the natives in their dark robes
standing like statues on the flat roofs of their homes, yet
watching every movement of the stranger that has so unexpectedly
appeared in their midst. I do not fear them, but somehow a feeling
of unrest steals over me; they seem like shades of departed
Israelites back again from their long sleep. In the gathering
gloom I pass quickly into the mission-house near by.
This proves to be an evening full of interest to me. I learn that
a mission-service is soon to begin, and that a number of the
villagers will be here for the service. I am impressed with the
quiet (save for the barking of dogs) that prevails in these Arab
villages. I see no drunkenness, and there is no boisterous
rudeness of other sort.
In a little while a score or more of men come quietly to the
mission-house, remove their sandals, pass into the room, and seat
themselves on the earthen floor against the walls. Mrs. Mitry
beckons to me to come to the door; she wanted me to see that row
of forty sandals. She said in her broken way that it was
interesting to her, and she thought it would interest me.
It is only a little while until Mr. Mitry enters and takes his
place at a small table in the center of the room.
