In the room by the window overlooking the land that had come down to him sat Jesse thinking of his own affairs.  In the stables he could hear the tramping of his horses and the restless movement of his cattle.  Away in the fields he could see other cattle wandering over green hills.  The voices of men, his men who worked for him, came in to him through the window.  From the milkhouse there was the steady thump, thump of a churn being manipulated by the half-witted girl, Eliza Stoughton.  Jesse’s mind went back to the men of Old Testament days who had also owned lands and herds.  He remembered how God had come down out of the skies and talked to these men and he wanted God to notice and to talk to him also.  A kind of feverish boyish eagerness to in some way achieve in his own life the flavor of significance that had hung over these men took possession of him.  Being a prayerful man he spoke of the matter aloud to God and the sound of his own words strengthened and fed his eagerness.

“I am a new kind of man come into possession of these fields,” he declared.  “Look upon me, O God, and look Thou also upon my neighbors and all the men who have gone before me here!  O God, create in me another Jesse, like that one of old, to rule over men and to be the father of sons who shall be rulers!” Jesse grew excited as he talked aloud and jumping to his feet walked up and down in the room.  In fancy he saw himself living in old times and among old peoples.  The land that lay stretched out before him became of vast significance, a place peopled by his fancy with a new race of men sprung from himself.  It seemed to him that in his day as in those other and older days, kingdoms might be created and new impulses given to the lives of men by the power of God speaking through a chosen servant.  He longed to be such a servant.  “It is God’s work I have come to the land to do,” he declared in a loud voice and his short figure straightened and he thought that something like a halo of Godly approval hung over him.

* * *

It will perhaps be somewhat difficult for the men and women of a later day to understand Jesse Bentley.  In the last fifty years a vast change has taken place in the lives of our people.  A revolution has in fact taken place.  The coming of industrialism, attended by all the roar and rattle of affairs, the shrill cries of millions of new voices that have come among us from overseas, the going and coming of trains, the growth of cities, the building of the inter-urban car lines that weave in and out of towns and past farmhouses, and now in these later days the coming of the automobiles has worked a tremendous change in the lives and in the habits of thought of our people of Mid-America.  Books, badly imagined and written though they may be in the hurry of our times, are in every household, magazines circulate by the millions of copies, newspapers are everywhere.  In our day a farmer standing by the stove in the store in his village has his mind filled to overflowing with the words of other men.  The newspapers and the magazines have pumped him full.  Much of the old brutal ignorance that had in it also a kind of beautiful childlike innocence is gone forever.  The farmer by the stove is brother to the men of the cities, and if you listen you will find him talking as glibly and as senselessly as the best city man of us all.