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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
96
X
THE
INFIDEL
I
find
that
we
have
an
infidel
in
this
community.
I
don't
know
that
I
should
set
down
the
fact
here
on
good
white
paper;
the
walls,
they
say,
have
eyes,
the
stones
have
ears.
But
consider
these
words
written
in
bated
breath!
The
worst
of
it
is--I
gather
from
common
report--this
infidel
is
a
Cheerful
Infidel,
whereas
a
true
infidel
should
bear
upon
his
face
the
living
mark
of
his
infamy.
We
are
all
tolerant
enough
of
those
who
do
not
agree
with
us,
provided
only
they
are
sufficiently
miserable!
I
confess
when
I
first
heard
of
him--through
Mrs.
Horace
(with
shudders)--I
was
possessed
of
a
consuming
secret
desire
to
see
him.
I
even
thought
of
climbing
a
tree
somewhere
along
the
public
road--like
Zaccheus,
wasn't
it?--and
watching
him
go
by.
If
by
any
chance
he
should
look
my
way
I
could
easily
avoid
discovery
by
crouching
among
the
leaves.
It
shows
how
pleasant
must
be
the
paths
of
unrighteousness
that
we
are
tempted
to
climb
trees
to
see
those
who
walk
therein.
My
imagination
busied
itself
with
the
infidel.
I
pictured
him
as
a
sort
of
Moloch
treading
our
pleasant
countryside,
flames
and
smoke
proceeding
from
his
nostrils,
his
feet
striking
fire,
his
voice
like
the
sound
of
a
great
wind.
At
least
that
was
the
picture
I
formed
of
him
from
common
report.
And
yesterday
afternoon
I
met
the
infidel
and
I
must
here
set
down
a
true
account
of
the
adventure.
It
is,
surely,
a
little
new
door
opened
in
the
house
of
my
understanding.
I
might
travel
a
whole
year
in
a
city,
brushing
men's
elbows,
and
not
once
have
such
an
experience.
In
country
spaces
men
develop
sensitive
surfaces,
not
calloused
by
too
frequent
contact,
accepting
the
new
impression
vividly
and
keeping
it
bright
to
think
upon.
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