now. Yet not a bad place to live either, ifone had nothing to do in the world. Sit down and rest and letus look at it."
"And I have got some luncheon for you, Mr. Dinwiddie. I shouldhave missed all this if you had not been with me. Papa wouldnever have come here."
There were many places in front of the cells where seats hadbeen cut out in the rock; and in one of these Mr. Dinwiddieand I sat down, to eat fruit and biscuit and use our eyes; ourattendant Arab no doubt wondering at us all the while. Thelandscape in view was exceedingly fine. We had the plains ofJericho, green and lovely, spread out before us; we could seethe north end of the Dead Sea and the mouth of the Jordan; andthe hills of Moab, always like a superb wall of mountainrising up over against us.
"Do you know where you are?" said Mr. Dinwiddie.
"Partly."
"The site of old Jericho is marked by the heaps and the ruinswhich lie between us and our camp."
"Yes. That is _old_ Jericho."
"Over against us, somewhere among those Moab hills, is thepass by which the hosts of the 'sons of Israel' came down,with their flocks and herds, to the rich plains over there, -the plains of Moab."
"And opposite us, I suppose, somewhere along there in front ofold Jericho, is the place where the waters of the river failedfrom below and were cut off from above, and the great spacewas laid bare for the armies to pass over."
"Just over there. And there - Elijah and Elisha went over dryshod, when Elijah smote with his mantle upon the waters; andthere by the same way Elisha came back alone, after he hadseen his master taken from him."
"Those were grand times!" I said, with a half breath.
"They were rough times."
"Still, they were grand times."
"I think, these are grander."
"But, Mr. Dinwiddie, such things are not done now as were donethen."
"Why not?"
"Why, how can you ask?"
"How can you answer?"
"Why, Mr. Dinwiddie, the river is not parted now, this rivernor any other, for the Lord's people to go over withouttrouble."
"Are you sure?" said he, with the deep sweet look I hadnoticed. "Do they never come now, in the way of their duty, toan impassable barrier of danger or difficulty, through whichthe same hand opens their path? Did you never find that theydo, in your own experience?"
A little, I had; and yet it seemed to me that a very Jordan ofdifficulty lay before me now, rolling in full power. Mr.Dinwiddie waited a moment and went on.
"That old cry, 'Where is the Lord God of Elijah?' - will bringdown His hand, now as then; mighty to hold back worse wavesthan those of the 'Descender.' Aaron's rod, and the blast ofthe priests' trumpets, were but the appeal and the triumph offaith. And before that appeal stronger walls than those ofJericho fall down, now as well as then."
"Then it must be the faith that is wanting," I said.
"Sometimes" - Mr. Dinwiddie answered; "and _not_ sometimes. Thatearnest Sunday-school teacher, who prayed that the Lord wouldgive him at least one soul a week out of his Bible class, andwho reported at the end of the year, _fifty-two_ brought to God,- what do you think of his faith? - and his Jericho?"
"Is it true?" I said.
"It is true. What are the walls of stone and mortar to that?We wrestle not with flesh and blood, but againstprincipalities, against powers, against the rulers of thedarkness of this world. - But our Captain is stronger."
I think we were both silent for some time; yet there was a dinof voices in my ear. So it seemed. Silence was literallybroken only by the note of a bird here and there; but theplain before me, the green line which marked the course of theJordan, the Moab mountains, the ruins at my feet, the cavesbehind me, were all talking to me. And there were voices of myown past and present, still other voices, blending with these.I sat very still, and Mr. Dinwiddie sat very still; until hesuddenly turned to me and spoke.
"Will nothing but a miracle do, Miss Daisy?"
The tone was so gentle and so quietly blended itself with mymusings, that I started and smiled.
"Oh, yes," I said; - "I do not suppose I want a miracle."
"Can a friend's counsel be of any use?"
"It might - of the greatest," I answered; - "if only I couldtell you all the circumstances."
"Before we go to that, how has it fared with my little friendof old time, all these years?"
"How has it _fared_ with me?" - I repeated in doubt.
"There is only one sort of welfare I know," he said. "It isnot strength to the body, or gold to the purse. I am 'well'only when God's favour is shining on me and I am strong to runthe way of His commandments."
"I am not strong," I said.
"You know I do not mean my own strength, or yours," heanswered.
"I have never forgotten what you used to tell me," I said.
"Good. And yet, Miss Daisy, I would rather you could tell meyou had forgotten it; that you had gone on so far from thatbeginning as to have lost it out of view."
"Ah, but I have not had so many friends to teach me, and helpme, that I could afford to forget the first one," I said. "Ihave one dear old friend who thinks as you do, - and that isall; and I cannot see her now."
" 'If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth toall men liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be givenhim,' " Mr. Dinwiddie said.
"I lack wisdom, very much; but it does not seem to come, eventhough I ask for it. I am sometimes in a great puzzle."
"About what to do?"
"Yes."
"You can always find out the first step to be taken. Jesuswill be followed step by step. He will not show you but onestep at a time, very often. But take that, holding His hand,and He will show you the next."
"So I came here," I said.
"And what is the work to be done here? on yourself, or onsomebody else?"
"I do not know," I said. "I had not thought it was either.Perhaps I am learning."
He was silent then, and I sat thinking.
"Mr. Dinwiddie," I said, "maybe you can help me."
"I will gladly, if I can."
"But it is very difficult for me to put you in possession ofthe circumstances - or in the atmosphere of the circumstances.I do not know that I can. You know that papa and mamma do notthink with me on the subject of religion?"
"Yes."
"There are other things in which I think differently from them- other things in which we feel apart; and they do not knowit. Ought I to let them know it?"
"Your question is as enigmatical as an ancient oracle. I musthave a little more light. Do these differences of feeling oropinion touch action? - either yours or theirs?"
"Yes, - both."
"Then, unless your minds are known to each other, will therenot be danger of mistaken action, on the one part or on theother?"
"Telling them would not prevent that danger," I said.
"They would disregard your views, or you would disregardtheirs, - which?"
"I must not disregard theirs," I said low.
Mr. Dinwiddie was silent awhile. I had a sort of cry in myheart for the old dividing of the waters.
"Miss Daisy," he said, "there is one sure rule. Do right; andlet consequences break us to pieces, if needs be."
"But," said I doubtfully, "I had questioned what was right; atleast I had not been certain that I ought to do anything justnow."
"Of course I am speaking in the dark," he answered. "But youcan judge whether this matter of division is something that inyour father's place you would feel you had a right to know."
I mused so long after this speech, that I am sure Mr.Dinwiddie must have felt that he had touched my difficulty. Hewas perfectly silent. At last I rose up to go home. I do notknow what Mr. Dinwiddie saw in me, but he stopped me and tookmy hand.
"Can't you trust the Lord?" he said.
"I see trouble before me, whatever I do," I said with somedifficulty.
"Very well," he said; "even so, trust the Lord. The troublewill do you no harm."
I sat do
wn for a moment and covered my face. It might do me noharm; it might at the same time separate me from what I lovedbest in the world.
"Cannot you trust?" he repeated. " 'He that putteth his trustin the Lord shall be made fat.' "
"You know," I said, getting up, "one cannot help being weak."
"Will you excuse me? - That is precisely what we _can_ help. Wecannot help being ignorant sometimes, - foolish sometimes, -short-sighted. But weak we need not be; for 'in the LordJehovah is everlasting