"Captain," he said, "are you hungry?"

All at once he was attracted by a spectacle and forgot everything
else. For as he stood there beside his bale of hemp in the dead
fields, his throat and eyes filled with dust, the dust all over
him, low on the dark red horizon there had formed itself the solemn
picture of a winter sunset. Amid the gathering darkness the workman
remained gazing toward that great light--into the stillness of it--
the loneliness--the eternal peace. On his rugged face an answering
light was kindled, the glory of a spiritual passion, the flame of
immortal things alive in his soul. More akin to him seemed that
beacon fire of the sky--more nearly his real pathway home appeared
that distant road and gateway to the Infinite--than the flickering,
near house-taper in the valley below. Once before, on the most
memorable day of his life, David had beheld a winter sunset like
that; but then across the roofs of a town--roofs half white, half
brown with melting snow, and with lengthening icicles dripping in
the twilight.

Suddenly, as if to shut out troubled thoughts, he stooped and,
throwing his big, long arms about the hemp, lifted it to his
shoulder. "Come, Captain," he called to his companion, and stalked
heavily away. As he went, he began to hum an ancient, sturdy hymn:--

"How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word.
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine."