He had been full of the impression, and the advice and
information bestowed upon him by the Board of Missions had served to
heighten the impression, that in Lone Moose he would fill a crying want.
And he was not so obtuse as to fail of perceiving that no want of him or
his message existed. It was discouraging to know that he must strive
mightily to awaken a sense of need before he could begin to fulfill his
appointed function of showing these people how to satisfy that need.
Apart from these spiritual perplexities he found himself troubled over
practical matters. His creed of blind trust in Providence did not seem
so sound and true. He found himself dreading the hour when his swarthy
guides would leave him to his lonely quarters. He beheld terrible vistas
of loneliness, a state of feeling to which he had always been a
stranger. He foresaw a series of vain struggles over that rusty
cookstove. It did him no good to recall that he had been told in the
beginning that he would occupy the mission quarters, that he must
provide himself with ample supplies of food, that he might have to
prepare that food himself.
His mind had simply been unable to envisage the sordid reality of these
things until he faced them.
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