A pallet is brought to
me, and on it I am soon trying to sleep. But the beautiful sun-
set, the vision of the past of this region, the mission-service,
the stillness of the night - so still that the very silence seems
audible - keep me awake for some time. I am lying by the "watch-
tower of Gilead." I seem to see the Spirit of Prophecy standing on
its broken battlements, wrapped in the shadows of the night,
looking hopefully toward the place of sun-rising. I call to him,
"Watchman, what of the night?" In sweet tones of assurance comes
the answer, "The morning cometh! The story of the Christ will yet
transform the darkness that rests here into the brightness of
noonday." Then a sweet peace seemed wafted into my soul from out
the unseen somewhere, - but certainly from Him who "giveth his
beloved sleep."
"Down to the Jordan"
CHAPTER VII.
It was early on the following morning when our horses were led
around to the door of the mission-house, but notwithstanding the
early hour a dozen or more of the natives were standing in line to
receive medical attention from the missionary. A few were there
who seemed to have come to witness our departure. Our guide,
promised the night before, was on hand, mounted, ready to lead the
way over what proved to be by far the roughest part of my trip.
For that day my party consisted of four persons.
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