’So he went back in the duck punt and I went on fishing. Suddenly _The Man_ I told you about the night before your wedding sat down in the dinghy, and as I was about to kneel to Him, He said, just naturally, as a king might to any one he’d known for years,— ’"Oh, Fotheringham, a boat is an impossible place for you to be respectful in!" And He laughed as He said, "Sit down." ’And then after a minute He asked,— ’"Any luck?" ’"No, Sir," I answered. ’"It’s because you’re anchored; it doesn’t do in this river, and you’re in the wrong place. I’ll take you to a better." ’So He rowed me further down the river towards the sea. ’"Is your line clear of weed?" He asked. ’And I looked and said, "Yes, Sir." ’"Do you ever breathe on your hooks?" ’"No, Sir, is it any good?" ’"Well, those old fishermen always say it’s better, why don’t you try it?" ’So I did, and I began to catch. Then _The Man_ said,— ’"What about My other fishing?" And at first I didn’t answer, because He had mentioned it to me before, and I wanted to refuse, but His eyes compelled me, for all they were so gentle, so I said,— ’"I’m not cut out for that other kind of fishing." ’"Not if I breathed on your hooks?" ’We fell silent. Then I thought of the loathing I have always had for slums and dirt and squalor, and especially for natives, and He must have known what I was thinking, for He said,— ’"Isn’t it a good thing I didn’t have an antipathy for black people—that time I died for you?" ’And I said, "Yes, Sir," because all in a moment I realised how black sin was to the Son of God who in the perfection of His whiteness had been "made sin" that I might become the righteousness of God in Him. ’And then He said, "Anthony, you’ve been horribly lonely lately, haven’t you?" ’"Yes, Sir." ’"And you think I can’t comprehend that kind of loneliness, but it’s you who don’t understand. I have never had My marriage supper—My bride delays to make herself ready.’ ’I looked at Him again then, and saw His ache and hunger for _His Church_. ’"Anthony, land and water only divide you from your children, so many of Mine are separated from Me by sin," and I looked at Him again, and saw that He would always be lonely till the last of His children kneel to Him. ’"So, Anthony, what about My other fishing?" ’"I’ve not forgotten what you chose I should do years ago, Sir, and if you order this I must go." ’"And still——?" ’"And still be Your unprofitable servant, Sir." For all at once I saw that, too. ’"Anthony, is ’I’ll go because I’m ordered’ _really_ the best that you can say?" ’I looked out over the beautiful river, at the hills I loved, and I thought of the friends I would have to leave, and of the beauty of my old Devonshire home, and my heart ached increasingly for your mother. I looked at Ross, too, coming back in the duck punt—Ross, the last of my immediate family left to me—and I felt that I could only go out to the mission field if I were ordered.