Page:Syria, the land of Lebanon (1914).djvu/195

SOME SALT PEOPLE We were four: two Americans, the native pastor of the Protestant congregation at Horns, and an old, old man. The pastor was a noble fellow, who shortly afterward showed heroic mettle during a fearful cholera epidemic which ravaged his city. The old man, however, was the more picturesque figure.

He was clothed in baggy trousers of faded blue, with a large turban on his head and a heavy, formless sheepskin mantle over his shoulders; his bare feet were thrust into great yellow slippers which flopped clumsily as he walked. We should once have been inclined to treat him with some condescension; but fortunately we had learned the Oriental lesson of reverence for old age, and we American college graduates soon found there were many things that this unschooled Syrian mechanic could teach us. What dignity and quietness marked his speech and manner! How calm and trustful was his attitude toward the future! He was one of the first Protestants in this district, and many were the stories he could tell of the early days of struggle and persecution. He had never been rich—I doubt if he earned thirty cents a day; yet he spoke as one who had observed much and reflected much and, although many kinds of trouble had come to him, his contentment and faith were an inspiration to us. As we were his guests, we were of course treated with the greatest friendliness, yet we could see that in his eyes we were mere boys, who knew little of the problems of life. And, to tell the [ 153 ]