Seven long years that he had spent beggin' and importunin' for help to
carry out his Heaven-sent visions.

A livin' light shinin' in his sad eyes, and he couldn't git anybody else
to see it.

The constant washin' of new seas on new shores, and he couldn't git
anybody to hear 'em.

A constant glow, prophetic and ardent, longin' to carry the religion of
Christ into a new land that he knew wuz a-waitin' him, but everybody
else deaf and dumb to his heart-sick longin's.

Oh, I thought to myself as I stood there, if that poor creeter could
only had a few of the gorgeous banners that wuz waved out to the air,
enough to clothe an army; if he could have only had enough of 'em to
made him a hull shirt; if he could have had enough of the banquets
spread to his memory, enough to feed all the armies of the earth; if he
could have a slice of bread and a good cup of tea out of 'em, how glad I
would be, and how glad he would have been!

But it wuzn't to be, it wuzn't to be.

Hungry and in rags, almost naked, foot-sore, heart-sore, he arrived at
the convent gate, to ask food and shelter for himself and child.

[Illustration: Almost naked, foot-sore, heart-sore, he arrived at
the convent gate.]

It wuz here that he found an asylum for a few years, carryin' on his