"
"Strange coincidence," said Bonaparte; "my plan always was the same. Was
in the Free State once--solitary farm--one neighbour. Every Sunday I
called together friend and neighbour, child and servant, and said, 'Rejoice
with me, that we may serve the Lord,' and then I addressed them. Ah, those
were blessed times," said Bonaparte; "would they might return."
The German stirred at the cakes, and stirred, and stirred, and stirred. He
could give the stranger his bed, and he could give the stranger his hat,
and he could give the stranger his brandy; but his Sunday service!
After a good while he said:
"I might speak to Tant Sannie; I might arrange; you might take the service
in my place, if it--"
"My friend," said Bonaparte, "it would give me the profoundest felicity,
the most unbounded satisfaction; but in these worn-out habiliments, in
these deteriorated garments, it would not be possible, it would not be
fitting that I should officiate in service of One whom, for respect, we
shall not name. No, my friend, I will remain here; and, while you are
assembling yourselves together in the presence of the Lord, I, in my
solitude, will think of and pray for you. No; I will remain here!"
It was a touching picture--the solitary man there praying for them. The
German cleared his hands from the meal, and went to the chest from which he
had taken the black hat.
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