Prev | Current Page 84 | Next

Sinclair, Bertrand W., 1881-1972

"Burned Bridges"

You can't preach anything to a people who
don't understand a word you say, and who are mostly too busy with more
pressing affairs to listen if they did understand. And you see for
yourself there's no church."
"But what did these fellows do?" he persisted. That had been puzzling
him.
"Nothing," she said scornfully "nothing but sit around and complain
about the loneliness and the coarse food and the discouraging outlook.
Then they'd finally go away--go back to where they came from, I
suppose."
"The last man," Thompson ventured doubtfully. "The factor at Pachugan
told me Mr. Carr assaulted him. That seems rather odd to me, after what
I've seen of your father. Was it so?"
"The last missionary wasn't what you'd call a good man, in any sense,"
Sophie answered frankly. "He was here most of one summer, and toward the
last he showed himself up pretty badly. He developed a nasty trick of
annoying little native girls. Dad thrashed him properly. Dad took it as
a sort of reflection on us. Even the Indians don't approve of that sort
of thing. He left in a hurry, after that."
Thompson felt his face burn.
"Things like that made a bad impression," he returned diffidently. "I
suppose in all walks of life there are wolves in sheep's clothing.


Pages:
72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96