Manchurian Books

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"Oh, Father Ambrose," cried the girl, when at last he entered her
presence, "I watched your approach from afar off. You walked with
halting step, and shoulders increasingly bowed. You are wearing yourself
out in my service, and that I cannot permit. You return this evening a
tired man."
"Not physically tired," replied the monk, with a smile. "My head is
bowed with meditation and prayer, rather than with fatigue. Indeed, it
is others who do the harassing manual labor, while I simply direct and
instruct. Sometimes I think I am an encumberer in the vineyard, lazily
using brain instead of hand."
"Nonsense!" cried the girl, "the vineyard would be but a barren
plantation without you; and speaking of it reminds me that I have poured
out, with my own hand, a tankard of the choicest, oldest wine in our
cellars, which I allow no one but yourself to taste. Sit down, I beg of
you, and drink."
The wise old man smiled, wondering what innocent trap was being set for
him.


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