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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
111
"Is
that
possible?"
I
said,
and
I
dropped
my
knife
and
fork.
The
strangest
sensation
came
over
me.
"Why,"
I
said,
"then
I'm
an
infidel
too!"
So
I
laughed
and
I've
been
laughing
gloriously
ever
since--at
myself,
at
the
infidel,
at
the
entire
neighbourhood.
I
recalled
that
delightful
character
in
"The
Vicar
of
Wakefield"
(my
friend
the
Scotch
Preacher
loves
to
tell
about
him),
who
seasons
error
by
crying
out
"Fudge!"
"Fudge!"
I
said.
We're
all
poor
sinners!
XI
THE
COUNTRY
DOCTOR
Sunday
afternoon,
June
9.
We
had
a
funeral
to-day
in
this
community
and
the
longest
funeral
procession,
Charles
Baxter
says,
he
has
seen
in
all
the
years
of
his
memory
among
these
hills.
A
good
man
has
gone
away--and
yet
remains.
In
the
comparatively
short
time
I
have
been
here
I
never
came
to
know
him
well
personally,
though
I
saw
him
often
in
the
country
roads,
a
ruddy
old
gentleman
with
thick,
coarse,
iron-gray
hair,
somewhat
stern
of
countenance,
somewhat
shabby
of
attire,
sitting
as
erect
as
a
trooper
in
his
open
buggy,
one
muscular
hand
resting
on
his
knee,
the
other
holding
the
reins
of
his
familiar
old
white
horse.
I
said
I
did
not
come
to
know
him
well
personally,
and
yet
no
one
who
knows
this
community
can
help
knowing
Doctor
John
North.
I
never
so
desired
the
gift
of
moving
expression
as
I
do
at
this
moment,
on
my
return
from
his
funeral,
that
I
may
give
some
faint
idea
of
what
a
good
man
means
to
a
community
like
ours--as
the
more
complete
knowledge
of
it
has
come
to
me
to-day.
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