Was he young?  No.  Was he old?  No, again.  How old was he?  Forty, perhaps; it may be fifty.  The two men who stood looking at him never thought of his age, neither then nor afterward; never thought whether he was old or young.  There are people who have no age to those who know them.  Is it because their bodies so little represent them?  A friend has been away—­for years.  He returns; enters your room; you shake his hand heartily in welcome.  And then you stand off and look at him.  You look at his hair and note the gray in it—­at the wrinkles in his face—­the dozen and one marks that denote change—­and say, “you’ve grown old, old boy;” and so we judge most men, and so they should be judged.  Why?  Because they are not great and strong and soul-large enough to dwarf their bodies out of sight and dwindle them into insignificance.

But now and then you meet one whose mind represents him, whose soul is so gloriously finished that, as in the case of a great painting, you do not think of the frame around it, nor take notice of it at all.  He is so strong vitally; so great in living force—­in vital energies—­in moving and persuading power—­that he is to you like an immense, endless, all-conquering Life, wholly independent of his embodiment, who might exist in any form,—­angel, archangel, spirit, winged or wingless, supernal or infernal, and still, in all forms, in all places, in all moral states would remain true to himself and be the same.  There are some, I say, who are like this,—­who are not of the earth, earthy, nor of the body, but of the spirit, whether good or bad, spiritual:  angel or demon, always.

Do you know one such?  No?  Perhaps not, for they are rare, very rare.  But some such there are, and if you do not know one, or one like to such a one, I ask you if you do not think of him as I have said?  Body! what is body to such a man? what is a formation of clay deftly mingled in its chemistry round about such an indomitable indwelling spirit?  Does the old rain-sodden nest photograph the bird, the swiftness and glory of whose wings lived in it once?  What is age to such a one?  What has he to do with the passing of years?  Such a one is young and old both, from the beginning of his career forever onward.  He has the freshness of youth, the strength of manhood, and the sagacity of age, fixed permanently in his structure, as nature fixes her colors in the fibre of the ash and the oak.  Such have no age.  How silly to ask how old he is.  If you ask me, I should answer, Who can tell?  Their earthly parents say they were born on such and such dates.  Were they?  Or had they lived as Mary’s Son had, ages before they took—­for God’s wise purpose—­flesh?  Who can tell?

“Heresy?” I’m not writing a sermon, I am writing a story, and I seek to make my readers think.  That would not be essential if I were sermonizing.  Good people don’t want that kind of preaching.

But to return.  Was he young?  Was he old?  Neither then nor ever after did Herbert and the trapper think of him as having age; and yet he was with them, and his body had all the marks which reveal to the noticing eye the measure of man’s days.  This is the young man’s description of him: