Now and
again the train would thunder over a high trestle bridge above a leaping
torrent-river. Dean waved his hand vaguely to include the primeval
vastnesses around them.
"That's right," answered the minister. "There's no cramping here. Room
for everyone. Room for spiritual growth as well as material growth. I
know the feeling you have. When I was a young man about your age I came
to Canada from the slums of Liverpool. I had been twice in jail in
Liverpool. It was for theft. In England I should probably have developed
into a chronic thief. There's little chance for a man who has once been
in prison.... But Canada gave me my chance. Canada didn't bother about
my past. Canada only wanted to know what I could do in the future."
Dean's eyes widened at this frank avowal. He had never seen or heard of
a man--and especially a man in the ministry--who would openly confess to
a prison-brand upon him.
"No wonder you like Canada," was his lame answer.
"Tell me, my friend, why you left my chapel so hurriedly last night."
Dean flushed. "I was feeling a bit faint," he returned.
"That's conscience."
"Oh, I don't know. The chapel was very packed and hot."
"It was conscience. Why won't you be frank with me?"
"There's nothing to be frank about."
The minister looked steadily at him, and Dean flushed still further and
fidgetted uncomfortably.
"I must be getting back to my carriage," he murmured.
"The Lord has brought you to me a second time.
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