The other man was taller, heavier, but not near so impressive.  His form was awkward, his face homely, his ears stuck out like wings, and his expression was that of the always-appreciated buffoon.

Bob was about to pass on, when he noticed that he was not the only spectator of all this ease of manner.  A dozen of the campers had gathered, and were staring across the ropes with quite frank and unabashed curiosity.  More were coming from all directions.  In a short time a crowd of several hundred had collected, and stood, evidently in expectation.  Then, and only then, did the small man with the pointed beard seem to become aware of the presence of any one besides his companion.  He leaned across to exchange a few words with the latter, after which he laid aside his hat, arose and advanced to the rope barrier on which he rested the tips of his fingers.

“My friends,” he began in a nasal but penetrating voice, that carried without effort to every hearer.  “I am not a regularly ordained minister of the gospel.  I find, however, that there is none such among us, so I have gathered you here together this morning to hear a few words appropriate to the day.  It has pleased Providence to call me to a public position wherein my person has become well known to you all; but that is an accident of the great profession to which I have been called, and I bow my heart in humility with the least and most lowly.  I am going to tell you about myself this morning, not because I consider myself of importance, but because it seems to me from my case a great lesson may be drawn.”

He paused to let his eye run over the concourse.  Bob felt the gaze, impersonal, impassive, scrutinizing, cold, rest on him the barest appreciable flicker of a moment, and then pass on.  He experienced a faint shock, as though his defences had been tapped against.

“My father,” went on the nasal voice, “came to this country in the ’sixties.  It was a new country in the hands of a lazy people.  It needed development, so my father was happy felling the trees, damming the streams, building the roads, getting possession of the land.  That was his job in life, and he did it well, because the country needed it.  He didn’t bother his head with why he was doing it; he just thought he was making money.  As a matter of fact, he didn’t make money; he died nearly bankrupt.”

The orator bowed his head for a moment.

“I might have done the same thing.  It’s all legitimate business.  But I couldn’t.  The country is being developed by its inhabitants:  work of that kind couldn’t satisfy me.  Why, friends? Because now it would be selfish work.  My father didn’t know it, but the reason he was happy was because the work he was doing for himself was also work for other people.  You can see that.  He didn’t know it, but he was helping develop the country.  But it wouldn’t have been quite so with me.  The country is developed in that way.  If I did that kind of work, I’d be