felt cold and forsaken.
Presently Mr. Fortune came on a trail of lilac-flowered creeper caught up on a fern. He disentangled this and carried it along with him.
âExtravagant creature!â he said; for now he felt sure that he was on Lueliâs track. âI could make myself a bouquet out of what he spills and scatters.â
He still followed the path, wondering what next he would pick up. A little further on he perceived a whole garland lying on a patch of greensward. He was in the heart of the little wood, and here the path seemed to end.
âI declare that heâs still child enough to be playing at houses. And this is the young man Iâve been trying to find a wife for!â
It looked exactly as though Lueli had been playing at house. The ferns and bushes around were hung with trailing sprays of blossom which looped them into a pretence of being walls, and in the midst beside the garland was a platter arranged with fruits and leaves.
âWhat a child!â exclaimed the priest. âYet after all it may not be Lueli. Why should I be so sure that this is his fancy-work?â
In an instant he was to be made quite sure. Something slim and dusky and motionless was reared up behind the platter of fruit. He looked closer. It was dreadfully familiar. He snatched it up and stared close into its face, a face he had seen before. And trampling on the garland he stood glaring at Lueliâs idol, which looked back at him with flowers behind its ears.
It was quite obvious, quite certain. There was no chance of being mistaken, no hope of doubt. For all these years Lueli had been playing a double game, betraying him, feigning to be a Christian, and in secret, in the reality of secretness, worshipping an idol.
âIt is my fault,â said the priest, speaking aloud because of his desperate loneliness.
âNot his at all, nor yours either,â and he gave the idol a sort of compassionate shake.
âI have deluded myself wilfully, I have built my house on the sand....
âI have forgotten the fear of God,â he went on. âAll this time I have gone on pretending that religion is a pleasant, is a gentle thing, a game for good children.
âBut it is an agony!â he suddenly shouted out.
There was no echo. The sultry twilight was closing in on him like a dark fleece. He could scarcely see the idol now, but in his mindâs eye he could see it, a face coldly and politely attentive, and the narrow polished shoulders over which a dollâs necklace slipped and sidled as it shook with his trembling hands.
âIt is torments, wounds, mutilation, and death. It is exile and weariness. It is strifeâan endless strifeâit is bewilderment and fear and trembling. It is despair.â
Turning abruptly he left the thicket by the path which had led him in, and stumbling in the dark and feeling his body heavy and cold in the hot night he made his way back to the hut.
It was all dark; but that was no reason why Lueli should not be within, for he had been so often warned to handle the lamp carefully that he was a coward about it and never touched it if he could avoid doing so.
Mr. Fortune threw down the idol and lit the lamp from his tinder-box. Then he looked round. Lueli was curled up on his mat. He had been asleep, and now he opened his eyes and looked drowsily at his friend. Mr. Fortune said nothing. He stood in the centre of the hut under the hanging lamp and waited for Lueli to notice the idol.
Lueli parted his lips. He was just about to speak when he saw what lay on the ground. He raised his eyes to Mr. Fortuneâs countenance, for a moment he put on a confused smile, then with an ill-feigned yawn he turned over and pretended to have fallen asleep again.
âDeceit,â said Mr. Fortune, as though he were reading from a note-book.
A faint grunt answered him.
âLueli, my poor Lueli, this is useless. You canât get out of it like this. Get up and tell me
Presently Mr. Fortune came on a trail of lilac-flowered creeper caught up on a fern. He disentangled this and carried it along with him.
âExtravagant creature!â he said; for now he felt sure that he was on Lueliâs track. âI could make myself a bouquet out of what he spills and scatters.â
He still followed the path, wondering what next he would pick up. A little further on he perceived a whole garland lying on a patch of greensward. He was in the heart of the little wood, and here the path seemed to end.
âI declare that heâs still child enough to be playing at houses. And this is the young man Iâve been trying to find a wife for!â
It looked exactly as though Lueli had been playing at house. The ferns and bushes around were hung with trailing sprays of blossom which looped them into a pretence of being walls, and in the midst beside the garland was a platter arranged with fruits and leaves.
âWhat a child!â exclaimed the priest. âYet after all it may not be Lueli. Why should I be so sure that this is his fancy-work?â
In an instant he was to be made quite sure. Something slim and dusky and motionless was reared up behind the platter of fruit. He looked closer. It was dreadfully familiar. He snatched it up and stared close into its face, a face he had seen before. And trampling on the garland he stood glaring at Lueliâs idol, which looked back at him with flowers behind its ears.
It was quite obvious, quite certain. There was no chance of being mistaken, no hope of doubt. For all these years Lueli had been playing a double game, betraying him, feigning to be a Christian, and in secret, in the reality of secretness, worshipping an idol.
âIt is my fault,â said the priest, speaking aloud because of his desperate loneliness.
âNot his at all, nor yours either,â and he gave the idol a sort of compassionate shake.
âI have deluded myself wilfully, I have built my house on the sand....
âI have forgotten the fear of God,â he went on. âAll this time I have gone on pretending that religion is a pleasant, is a gentle thing, a game for good children.
âBut it is an agony!â he suddenly shouted out.
There was no echo. The sultry twilight was closing in on him like a dark fleece. He could scarcely see the idol now, but in his mindâs eye he could see it, a face coldly and politely attentive, and the narrow polished shoulders over which a dollâs necklace slipped and sidled as it shook with his trembling hands.
âIt is torments, wounds, mutilation, and death. It is exile and weariness. It is strifeâan endless strifeâit is bewilderment and fear and trembling. It is despair.â
Turning abruptly he left the thicket by the path which had led him in, and stumbling in the dark and feeling his body heavy and cold in the hot night he made his way back to the hut.
It was all dark; but that was no reason why Lueli should not be within, for he had been so often warned to handle the lamp carefully that he was a coward about it and never touched it if he could avoid doing so.
Mr. Fortune threw down the idol and lit the lamp from his tinder-box. Then he looked round. Lueli was curled up on his mat. He had been asleep, and now he opened his eyes and looked drowsily at his friend. Mr. Fortune said nothing. He stood in the centre of the hut under the hanging lamp and waited for Lueli to notice the idol.
Lueli parted his lips. He was just about to speak when he saw what lay on the ground. He raised his eyes to Mr. Fortuneâs countenance, for a moment he put on a confused smile, then with an ill-feigned yawn he turned over and pretended to have fallen asleep again.
âDeceit,â said Mr. Fortune, as though he were reading from a note-book.
A faint grunt answered him.
âLueli, my poor Lueli, this is useless. You canât get out of it like this. Get up and tell me
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