years I watch the works of God from day to day, and all, I can see it plainly, is going in one way!”
“What way?”
“To the worse, lad. To ruin's the only conclusion. . . . The time is nigh for God's world to perish.”
The old man put on his cap and looked up.
“It's a pity!” he sighed after a short silence. “Lord, what a pity! It's God's will, of course—not we made the world, but it's a pity, brother! When a tree is withered, or a cow dies, we're sorry to see it. But what do you say, good man, to the whole world perishing? What good. Lord Jesus? And the sun . . . and the sky, and the woods . . . and the rivers . . . and the beasts—surely all these were made, adapted, fitted to one another. Each for its own work, each in its own place. . . . And all this will perish!”
A mournful smile passed over the shepherd's face, and he blinked his eyes.
“You think the whole world perishes?” said Meliton thoughtfully. “It may be; perhaps we are really near the end. But I don't believe that birds alone prove anything.”
“Not birds only,” replied the shepherd. “But beasts also . . . and cattle and bees and fish. . . . If you don't believe what I say, ask the old men. They'll tell you that fish are not what they used to
