I looked quizzically into his eyes to see what effect this would have, and if there was no evidence of a mist of pleasure and affection being vigorously restrained I was very much mistaken. Something seemed to hold the man in helpless silence as he gazed vacantly at nothing. He breathed heavily, then drew himself together and lifted one of his big hands, as if to touch me, but refrained. "Yes, brother," he said after a time, "I _am_." "Well, that's good," I replied, taking a slight mental exception to the use of the word brother. "What makes you contented?" "I don't know, unless it is that I've found out what I ought to do. You see, I need so very little for myself that I couldn't be very unhappy." "What ought you to do?" "I ought to love my fellowmen." "And do you?" "Say, brother, but I do," he insisted quite simply and with no evidence of chicane or make-believe--a simple, natural enthusiasm. "I love everybody. There isn't anybody so low or so mean but I love him. I love you, yes, I do. I love you." He reached out and touched me with his hand, and while I was inclined to take exception to this very moral enthusiasm, I thrilled just the same as I have not over the touch of any man in years. There was something effective and electric about him, so very warm and foolishly human. The glance which accompanied it spoke, it seemed, as truthfully as his words. He probably did love me--or thought he did. What difference? We lapsed into silence. The scene below was so charming that I could easily gaze at it in silence. This little house was very simple, not poor, by no means prosperous, but well-ordered--such a home as such a man might have. After a while I said: "It is very evident that you think the condition of some of your fellowmen isn't what it ought to be. Tell me what you are trying to do. What method have you for improving their condition?" "The way I reason is this-a-way," he began. "All that some people have is their feelings, nothing else. Take a tramp, for instance, as I often have. When you begin to sum up to see where to begin, you find that all he has in the world, besides his pipe and a little tobacco, is his feelings. It's all most people have, rich or poor, though a good many think they have more than that. I try not to injure anybody's feelings." He looked at me as though he had expressed the solution of the difficulties of the world, and the wonderful, kindly eyes beamed in rich romance upon the scene. "Very good," I said, "but what do you do? How do you go about it to aid your fellowmen?" "Well," he answered, unconsciously overlooking his own personal actions in the matter, "I try to bring them the salvation which the Bible teaches. You know I stand on the Bible, from cover to cover." "Yes, I know you stand on the Bible, but what do you do? You don't merely preach the Bible to them. What do you do?"