Job's Pool 



his eye alert for all enticements and with no pro- 

 tective fingers in his ears. 



Indeed, while I walked along as the observant 

 Faithful, I used to think that Christian was 

 miscast. Had he only been a naturalist, with 

 what rapture he would have chanced upon the 

 Slough! How he would have botanized it! 

 With what delight he would have catalogued its 

 flora, forgetting in the joy of recognition and 

 discovery all commandments laid upon him to 

 preserve the straight and narrow path. Once, 

 moreover, that he had made his way through the 

 white flutter of buck-bean, through thrusting 

 arrow-heads and slim clean sheaths of cat-tail, 

 with what regret he would have reached the 

 farther bank. Certainly my father made no ges- 

 tm-e of entreaty or of supplication as he prodded 

 for tight-fisted little plants that clutched the base 

 of tussocks or ventm-ed on the quagmire for small 

 spreading growths. Curiosity made for his val- 

 iance and he even plunged for treasure held 

 remote. Nor did I hear him make a feint of 

 weariness about his pack soon filled with a rich 

 freight. Sometimes, to be sure, he would call me 



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