Presently he caught a glimpse of Yusuf. The sight of the man whom he had so nearly delivered to death was too much for him. His little eyes darted about as if suspicious of some design upon his freedom. He could not understand the magnanimity of these people, and, deeming discretion the better part of valor, he sprang from the table, shouldered his pack, and was off, to be seen no more. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXXIII. THE FAREWELL. "Sondry folk, by aventure y-falle in felaweschipe."--_Chaucer._ And now, our tale draws to a close, and time permits but a parting glance at those who have been so long a goodly company of friends. Amzi has, in his descent to old age, developed a wonderful activity of mind and body. He has become one of the most influential members of the little town in which he has taken up his abode. Realizing as never before the duty which man owes to man, and fully awakened at last to the fact that our talents are given us to be exercised fully, he no longer dreams away time in the Arab Kaif; but, from morning to night, his plump figure and good-natured old face are seen, up and down, in the mart, in the council-chamber, in the church, wherever he can lend a helping hand. He has even assumed the role of schoolmaster, and upon the earthen floor of an unused hall he gathers day by day a troop of little ones, over whom he bends patiently as they cling to his gown for sympathy in their small trials, or as they trace upon their wax tablets, with little, uncertain hands and in almost illegible characters, the words of a copy, or text. "Aye," he says, "who knows what these little ones may some day become? They are as impressionable as the wax upon which they write. Heaven grant that the impression made upon them may be mighty for good!" Kedar has married a Bedouin maid, and is happy in his free life in the old land. Naught but the desert could satisfy him; he would stagnate in the calm life which those in the Jordan valley are finding so pleasant. As yet he and Manasseh have not been molested in their work by the Moslems; and in their remote mountain recesses they are persistently fighting against heathendom, and are leading many to live better and nobler lives. And Yusuf? He is in his home-land again. Once more he stands upon the highest point of the Guebre temple. The priests have not refused him admittance, for no one has recognized in this harmless old man the once Guebre Yusuf. Ah, it is heathen Persia still! The fires flicker upon the altar, and the idolatrous chants arise on the air. Yusuf covers his face with his mantle and weeps. He has but a few years of strength before him, but he will spend them in trying to bring the Gospel of love to these poor, blind people.