His hair was white, Now Comfortas was old and bent with labor and sorrow. and the people said the color had struck in to lend a crimson hue to the rich blossoms of the heart. All his life long he had tried to carry the ignorance and sins of his people; and if they rewarded him with ingratitude, Comfortas hid his heartache and only did men the greater good. Not until their king was gone did the people understand their debt to Comfortas. He found them poor and miserable; he left every man dwelling in peace and plenty under his own vine and fig tree. He found them dwelling in tents; he left them dwelling in houses. He found them sleeping in fear; he left them living in walled cities. But if Comfortas was very pitiful unto others, he dealt sternly with himself. Also, because there was still poverty and ignorance in the land, the king was often discouraged, and sometimes his depression was a cloud that overcast all the sky. In those hours he recalled his long life career, and a second time, in thought, he made his way across the continent of the years, from childhood to old age. He saw his life's pathway running like a silver thread through the forests, into the valleys, across the deserts, and up the mountain sides. Passing through that dark forest, he had made plain the trail and blazed the way, that other pilgrims might not suffer what he had suffered. Entering the thicket, he trampled down the briers, tearing his garments and his own white flesh, indeed, that other pilgrims might find a clear path. Coming to the edge of the swift stream, he threw a tree across the chasm. Having crossed the dangerous bog, he stayed not his toil until stones made the footing safe. Crossing the valley, he threw the seed forth on either side and prayed that the winds might preserve the seed and the rains bring it to a harvest against another's hunger. Last of all, when in the desert he was all but dead, through drought and fierce heat. Once he had recovered strength, Comfortas turned back and risked life again, that when others came they might find a pool, and the palm tree waving welcome and succor. What memories were these! Memories whose only sting was that doubt less, long ago, his seed had perished for want of care; his pathway through the jungle had grown up with thorns and briers, while long ago, perchance, the drifting sand had choked up the springs that he had digged. And in view of that long way across the continent and the weary pilgrims, the king's heart was filled with pain. Saddened by the thought of how little good he had wrought for his fellows, Comfortas bowed his head upon his staff and slept. And when the angel of sleep had drawn the mist over his eyes, the king dreamed. In his dream he was at the end of his long life journey. And oh! wonder of wonders! where he had thought to go in a stranger, lo! a great company had come out to meet and greet him! They brought with them trumpets and banners, and they welcomed him as a king returned from holy wars. First a great company of radiant beings passed before Comfortas, and every shining one brought sheaves with him and all cast some golden heads of grain before the king. And when Comfortas said, "Who are these fortunate ones?" the angel answered: "As you passed through the valley you opened your hand to sow the seed, and later mourned that there was none to care for the growing grain, and these are they whom God sent to put in the sickle for your sowing, and count your bundles, and lo! this great harvest is from your handfuls." Then passed before the king another company, every one as radiant with happiness as if no care nor sorrow had ever stained his life. And the angel said, "In passing through the harvest, you cut away the tangle; in crossing the stream, you left a bridge over the chasm, you made the bog to have safe footing for their feet, and these are of that company who passed in safety over places you found full of peril." And strewing flowers in his way, these with shouts and singing passed on. And lo! there came another company and stood before Comfortas, and the king said, "Who are these bright ones? And the angel said, "When you journeyed across the desert, you stayed not your hand until you had digged the spring beside the rock and made thick the cool shadow, lest others faint through fierce heat." And Comfortas looked, and lo! in that company there was not a child to whom the king had spoken a kind word; not a slave whom he had pitied in the market place; not a beggar into whose hand he had thrust a coin; not an orphan to whom he had ever given a loaf, but lo! all these were assembled to welcome Comfortas. And when the king felt that it was safer to trust his hopes than his fears, that God had been kinder to him than his wildest dreams, that not a seed that he had ever sown, but that the angels of God had watched its fall and brought it to its harvest, Comfortas fell upon his knees in an ecstasy of joy anu gratitude. And while he knelt and wept, the thick darkness that is ever the brooding of God's wings fell upon him. And having comforted others, he himself was comforted of God. And so the king passed down into the valley and the shadow, and crossing over, a great host came out to meet him, and they gave the king abundant entrance, and with trumpets and banners they led Comfortas up the happy hills of God, victorious after holy wars. CHAPTER XVII HAPPINESS AND THE RELIGIOUS PROBLEM WITH friend. ITH normal natures happiness begins Man needs a with the thought that God has time to care for each life. In a world where no grain of sand escapes Nature's notice, where there are no runaway stars or suns, where a divine ruler leads a beautiful world out of darkness, fire-mist and chaos, man cannot support the thought that there is no place for him in God's loving providence. So momentous are those moments named a bethrothal, a marriage, the death of babe, or mother, or statesman, that men wish to associate these events with a divine friend. Indeed, the most bitter cry that ever arises from human lips is this one, "No man careth for my soul." King Lear, rushing forth from his palace, to wander amidst the darkness, his white hair wet with the drenching storm, carries a heart that breaks, not because he has lost his crown, but because he finds himself uncared for by the daughters on whom he had lavished all his gifts. And life holds no office, no gold, and no honor that will stay the tears of him who feels that he has drifted beyond the divine care and oversight. If man is |