A little, I had; and yet it seemed to me that a very Jordan of
difficulty lay before me now, rolling in full power. Mr.
Dinwiddie waited a moment and went on.
"That old cry, 'Where is the Lord God of Elijah?' - will bring
down His hand, now as then; mighty to hold back worse waves
than those of the 'Descender.' Aaron's rod, and the blast of
the priests' trumpets, were but the appeal and the triumph of
faith. And before that appeal stronger walls than those of
Jericho fall down, now as well as then."
"Then it must be the faith that is wanting," I said.
"Sometimes" - Mr. Dinwiddie answered; "and not sometimes. That
earnest Sunday-school teacher, who prayed that the Lord would
give him at least one soul a week out of his Bible class, and
who reported at the end of the year, fifty-two brought to God,
- what do you think of his faith? - and his Jericho?"
"Is it true?" I said.
"It is true. What are the walls of stone and mortar to that?
We wrestle not with flesh and blood, but against
principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the
darkness of this world. - But our Captain is stronger."
I think we were both silent for some time; yet there was a din
of voices in my ear. So it seemed. Silence was literally
broken only by the note of a bird here and there; but the
plain before me, the green line which marked the course of the
Jordan, the Moab mountains, the ruins at my feet, the caves
behind me, were all talking to me. And there were voices of my
own past and present, still other voices, blending with these.
I sat very still, and Mr. Dinwiddie sat very still; until he
suddenly turned to me and spoke.
"Will nothing but a miracle do, Miss Daisy?"
The tone was so gentle and so quietly blended itself with my
musings, that I started and smiled.
"Oh, yes," I said; - "I do not suppose I want a miracle."
"Can a friend's counsel be of any use?"
"It might - of the greatest," I answered; - "if only I could
tell you all the circumstances."
"Before we go to that, how has it fared with my little friend
of old time, all these years?"
"How has it fared with me?" - I repeated in doubt.
"There is only one sort of welfare I know," he said. "It is
not strength to the body, or gold to the purse. I am 'well'
only when God's favour is shining on me and I am strong to run
the way of His commandments."
"I am not strong," I said.
"You know I do not mean my own strength, or yours," he
answered.