same
gates through which Ish-bosheth had sent armies against him, David sent
armies against his own son. And there above one of the gates of
Mahanaim the voice of his weeping arose when he heard the news of the
death of his strange misguided boy.

"Time passed on and the Israelites turned from the God of heaven to
worship at the shrines of other gods. Then, to punish them for their
sin God sent a strange invader into these mountains who carried away
the people by thousands into cruel captivity in a land far toward the
sun-rising.

"Later the Romans came and planted olive trees and built fine cities
and established enduring roads. But Rome is fallen, and where she moved
in power and splendor ruin only remains, and the unambitious, ignorant
Bedouin feeds his flock and lives in idleness amidst broken down
terraces and thorn-covered fertile soil. Desolate! Yes, dark is the
picture. But, what of the night? Take your place again on the
'watch-tower of Gilead' and scan well the horizon. Yes, it is well; the
morning cometh!"

Having given myself up to reverie and to communing with the SPIRIT OF
HISTORY, as it were, I was for a time forgetful of my surroundings. The
twilight had deepened when I again turned my thoughts to the village
and its people. I look up at some of the houses near me and see a
number of the natives in their dark robes standing like statues on the
flat roofs of their homes, yet watching every movement of the stranger
that has so unexpectedly appeared in their midst. I do not fear them,
but somehow a feeling of unrest steals over me; they seem like shades
of departed Israelites back again from their long sleep. In the
gathering gloom I pass quickly into the mission-house near by.

This proves to be an evening full of interest to me. I learn that a
mission-service is soon to begin, and that a number of the villagers
will be here for the service. I am impressed with the quiet (save for
the barking of dogs) that prevails in these Arab villages. I see no
drunkenness, and there is no boisterous rudeness of other sort.

In a little while a score or more of men come quietly to the
mission-house, remove their sandals, pass into the room, and seat
themselves on the earthen floor against the walls. Mrs. Mitry beckons
to me to come to the door; she wanted me to see that row of forty
sandals. She said in her broken way that it was interesting to her, and
she thought it would interest me.

It is only a little whil