the roads are dry,” I explained in ill temper, without knowing why I was so agitated.
“That’s just what I think—that he could wait. But I’m so ignorant I don’t suppose I know anything about such things—of course the pastor knows better than I do. He has great responsibility for all our souls, and I suppose that’s why he has to look after his interest. He’s a good preacher—though—does everything just right. Of course, I don’t like to blame the pastor—but I wouldn’t steal however much good it would do me. Some say the pastor is tight and thinks only of his share. But how could he carry such great responsibility—looking after our souls—if he didn’t get all that was coming to him?” observed the old man innocently.
This simplicity threw light upon the old man’s nature. Surely he had been tried severely by the hardships of life—far more than the pastor—about whose material welfare he was so concerned. All his life he had struggled with want, with suffering—with the bitter climate of our Finnland. And still he felt it his duty to give to others what was coming to them, no matter whether or not he had anything to live upon. The only thing that grieved him was his inability to meet his obligations punctually.
“I don’t think it was right for the pastor to call me a thief. I wouldn’t steal— but still I can’t pay,” continued the old man.
This utterance came from a heart that was honest—if worn out in the struggle.
“If I can haul these two barrels of tar to the city I
