That it should occur so in real life, and not merely in a moral tale!
The position of the rich man is so defensible. Of course it would
have been ridiculous of him to have sheltered me. Who was I? I had no
introduction. What was I? I might have robbed him in the night ... or
murdered. I was ill-dressed and poor, therefore no doubt covetous of
his fine clothes and wealth. They would only have themselves to blame
if they sheltered me and I did them harm. Besides, was there not the
tavern close by? All reason pointed to the tavern.
But something troubled them, something in my face and demeanour!
Alas for such people! They forget that Christ comes into this world
not clothed in purple. They forget that Christ is always walking on
the road, and that he shows himself as one needing help. And always
once in a man's life the pilgrim Christ comes knocking at his door,
with the pack of man's sorrows on his back and in his hand the staff
which may be a cross.
* * * * *
I met the young officer in white next morning. He looked at me with a
certain amount of surprise. I hailed him.
"Did you sleep well at the tavern?" he asked.
"I found shelter at a peasant's house," I answered.
"Ah! That's well. I didn't think of that.
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