'Tis a pain you've not had, I'm thinking, Davy."
"We all know the longing for old places and old times," I said.
"No, no, David, it's more than that. It's the wanting and the longing
to see the hills of your own land, and the town where you were born, and
the street where you played, and the house----"
He paused, "Ah, well, it's hard for those who have it."
"But I haven't heard Carlstrom refer to Sweden for years," I said. "Is
it homesickness, or just old age?"
"There ye have it, Davy; the nail right on the head!" exclaimed the
Scotch Preacher. "Is it homesickness, or is he just old and tired?"
With that we fell to talking about Carlstrom, the gunsmith. I have known
him pretty nearly ever since I came here, now more than ten years
ago--and liked him well, too--but it seemed, as Dr. McAlway talked that
evening, as though we were making the acquaintance of quite a new and
wonderful person. How dull we all are! How we need such an artist as the
Scotch Preacher to mould heroes out of the common human clay around us!
It takes a sort of greatness to recognize greatness.
In an hour's time the Scotch Preacher had both Harriet and me much
excited, and the upshot of the whole matter was that I promised to call
on Carlstrom the next day when I went to town.
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