ugh the tall grasses
close at hand. There he knelt down, cleansed the mug carefully, filled
it with water, and putting it to his lips, he drank a long refreshing
draught. In his pocket he found a crust of bread. He took it out,
broke it in two pieces, and then drank again. Only a piece of dry
bread! Only a drink of cold water in a cracked cup! No meal could be
simpler. Yet Stephen ate and drank with a kind of awe, enfolded in a
sustaining, life-giving Presence. He knew that he was not alone; he
knew that Another was with him, feeding and refreshing his inmost
soul, as he drank of the clear, cold water and ate the broken bread.

A wonderful peace and gladness fell upon his spirit as he knelt in the
sunny air. The silence of the great forest was itself a song of
praise. He rode homewards like a man in a dream. Day after day as he
journeyed, the brooding peace grew and deepened. Even the forest
pathways looked different as he travelled through them on his homeward
way. They had been full of trustful obedience before. They were filled
with thankfulness now. But the deepest thankfulness was in Stephen's
own heart.

* * * * *

Is that the end of the story? For many years that was the end. Stephen
never forgot his mysterious journey into the backwoods. He often
wondered why the Voice had sent him there. Nevertheless he knew, for
certain and past all doubting, that he had done right to go. Perhaps
gradually the memory faded a little and became dim....

* * * * *

Anyway nothing was further from his thoughts than the lonely backwoods
of America one afternoon, years after, when on one of his journeys in
Europe his business led him across London Bridge. The Bridge was
crowded with traffic. Everyone was bustling to and fro, intent on his
own business or pleasure. Not many people had leisure to notice one
slight figure distinguished by a foreign air of courtliness and grace,
in spite of the stiff, severe lines of its Quaker hat and coat. Not
many people, even if they had noticed the earnest face under the
broad-brimmed hat, would have stopped to gaze a second time upon it
that busy afternoon. Not many people. But one man did.

As Stephen was hastening across the crowded Bridge, suddenly he felt
himself seized roughly by the shoulders, and he heard a gruff voice
exclaiming: 'There you are! I have found you at last, have I?'

Deep down inside Stephen Grellet, the Qu