along must exist.
“Do you like the Chinese people, Doctor Strike?” she asked.
He turned quickly and leveled his colorless brilliant eyes on her.
“But I love them!” he exclaimed. “Who would not? They are perhaps the most tragic people that has ever lived. For hundreds of centuries they have enjoyed the highest plane of living and thinking. I doubt if even the Greeks ever perfected a more entirely civilized being than a Chinese gentleman of the Tangs or of the Sungs, and yet they have so far been permitted to be the victims of what seems the most colossal irony. Like the Greeks they have been permitted to miss persistently the one essential truth.”
“You mean the existence of God?”
“Not the existence of God,” cried the Doctor violently, “of any god, a god of truth, of justice, of power, of wisdom. No, what would all that mean, but the existence of a God of love?”
His words had such a naked ring that Megan was momentarily abashed, even while she more than ever admired him.
Mrs. Jackson got up with some suggestion of hauteur to goup-stairs. She was offended by an enthusiasm which she felt obscurely was a reflection on her own value.
“Well, I don’t like them,” she said coldly, pausing at the door, “and I’ve lived among them for years too. But I’ve done what I could for them, and I guess I’ve given the best of my life. Mr. Jackson and I did a good work in Shasi.”
And she went out.
Mr. Jackson spoke hastily and rather at random but with his habitually good-humored intent.
“I wish we had had a strong central authority in Hupeh like your General Yen. Any strong hand is better than none. We were overrun with bandits and deserters from both armies, and the lawlessness has been such for years that there was practically nothing we could accomplish. And I sometimes think,” he added sadly, “that God’s work is accomplished better by a celibate, like yourself and, well, like that French priest in Shasi, Father Roget, a great friend of ours. He had a very humorous way about him, big and fat he was, with beard and glasses. The Chinese like that. When we left we tried to get him to come too, but he wouldn’t. He was killed finally. Some roughnecks tried to break into his church and when he tried to stop them they killed him. But he was beloved for all that. I would have liked to stay too, but of course I had Mrs. Jackson to think of. You know, we thought for a time we weren’t going to be able to make it. We missed the gunboat that was to take all refugees away. We were inland when it came, so when we reached Shasi we had to hide forty-eight hours in a sampan in a crowd of other sampans till luckily the gunboat came back for us.” And Mr. Jackson looked affectionately at the spot where his wife had vanished, “Brave little woman,” he said very low to himself. Then he pulled out his watch. “Well, about time to go for Miss Reed now,” he said briskly. There seemed to be no doubt now Doctor Strike was here that they would get Miss Reed. “We can put them in the two north rooms,” he said.
Megan did not listen to their plans for Miss Reed. She was thinking of Mrs. Jackson waiting in the sampan for the gunboat they did not know was coming back. No matter how vividly she could imagine what Mrs. Jackson ought to have been thinking of in the sampan she felt sure that in reality Mrs. Jackson’s thoughts would always be to her incalculable, and, it must be admitted, unimportant.
VI
But when Doctor Strike and Mr. Jackson returned about six o’clock they brought the disquieting news that they had been unable to get into Chapei and to do so it would be necessary to get permits from so many authorities, English, French and Chinese, that they would be obliged to wait till the next morning. All evening they talked about it off and on, and Megan saw it was greatly on their minds, though no one seemed to think the orphanage was in any immediate danger.
The next day was a typical one of the
“Do you like the Chinese people, Doctor Strike?” she asked.
He turned quickly and leveled his colorless brilliant eyes on her.
“But I love them!” he exclaimed. “Who would not? They are perhaps the most tragic people that has ever lived. For hundreds of centuries they have enjoyed the highest plane of living and thinking. I doubt if even the Greeks ever perfected a more entirely civilized being than a Chinese gentleman of the Tangs or of the Sungs, and yet they have so far been permitted to be the victims of what seems the most colossal irony. Like the Greeks they have been permitted to miss persistently the one essential truth.”
“You mean the existence of God?”
“Not the existence of God,” cried the Doctor violently, “of any god, a god of truth, of justice, of power, of wisdom. No, what would all that mean, but the existence of a God of love?”
His words had such a naked ring that Megan was momentarily abashed, even while she more than ever admired him.
Mrs. Jackson got up with some suggestion of hauteur to goup-stairs. She was offended by an enthusiasm which she felt obscurely was a reflection on her own value.
“Well, I don’t like them,” she said coldly, pausing at the door, “and I’ve lived among them for years too. But I’ve done what I could for them, and I guess I’ve given the best of my life. Mr. Jackson and I did a good work in Shasi.”
And she went out.
Mr. Jackson spoke hastily and rather at random but with his habitually good-humored intent.
“I wish we had had a strong central authority in Hupeh like your General Yen. Any strong hand is better than none. We were overrun with bandits and deserters from both armies, and the lawlessness has been such for years that there was practically nothing we could accomplish. And I sometimes think,” he added sadly, “that God’s work is accomplished better by a celibate, like yourself and, well, like that French priest in Shasi, Father Roget, a great friend of ours. He had a very humorous way about him, big and fat he was, with beard and glasses. The Chinese like that. When we left we tried to get him to come too, but he wouldn’t. He was killed finally. Some roughnecks tried to break into his church and when he tried to stop them they killed him. But he was beloved for all that. I would have liked to stay too, but of course I had Mrs. Jackson to think of. You know, we thought for a time we weren’t going to be able to make it. We missed the gunboat that was to take all refugees away. We were inland when it came, so when we reached Shasi we had to hide forty-eight hours in a sampan in a crowd of other sampans till luckily the gunboat came back for us.” And Mr. Jackson looked affectionately at the spot where his wife had vanished, “Brave little woman,” he said very low to himself. Then he pulled out his watch. “Well, about time to go for Miss Reed now,” he said briskly. There seemed to be no doubt now Doctor Strike was here that they would get Miss Reed. “We can put them in the two north rooms,” he said.
Megan did not listen to their plans for Miss Reed. She was thinking of Mrs. Jackson waiting in the sampan for the gunboat they did not know was coming back. No matter how vividly she could imagine what Mrs. Jackson ought to have been thinking of in the sampan she felt sure that in reality Mrs. Jackson’s thoughts would always be to her incalculable, and, it must be admitted, unimportant.
VI
But when Doctor Strike and Mr. Jackson returned about six o’clock they brought the disquieting news that they had been unable to get into Chapei and to do so it would be necessary to get permits from so many authorities, English, French and Chinese, that they would be obliged to wait till the next morning. All evening they talked about it off and on, and Megan saw it was greatly on their minds, though no one seemed to think the orphanage was in any immediate danger.
The next day was a typical one of the
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