This is well illustrated by a report I have seen of the long race from
Marathon in the recent Olympian games, which was won by the young Greek
peasant, Sotirios Louès.


A STRUGGLE IN THE RACE OF LIFE.

There had been no great parade about the training of this champion
runner. From his work at the plough he quietly betook himself to the
task of making Greece victorious before the assembled strangers from
every land. He was known to be a good runner, and without fuss or bustle
he entered himself as a competitor. But it was not his speed alone,
out-distancing every rival, that made the young Greek stand out from
among his fellows that day. When he left his cottage home at Amarusi,
his father said to him, "Sotiri, you must only return a victor!" The
light of a firm resolve shone in the young man's eye. The old father was
sure that his boy would win, and so he made his way to the station,
there to wait till Sotiri should come in ahead of all the rest. No one
knew the old man and his three daughters as they elbowed their way
through the crowd. When at last the excitement of the assembled
multitude told that the critical moment had arrived, that the racers
were nearing the goal, the old father looked up through eyes that were a
little dim as he realized that truly Sotiri was leading the way. He
_was_ "returning a victor." How the crowd surged about the young peasant
when the race was fairly won! Wild with excitement, they knew not how to
shower upon him sufficient praise. Ladies overwhelmed him with flowers
and rings; some even gave him their watches, and one American lady
bestowed upon him her jewelled smelling-bottle. The princes embraced
him, and the king himself saluted him in military fashion. But the young