That old image was soon forgotten. No more flowers or jewels were offered at the forsaken shrine, and no incense went up with the prayers to a senseless block of wood.
At length the planter heard that a man who talked like the book was in Matamoras. He got on his horse quickly and went in search of him. He would bring him to San Roman, where so many were waiting and longing for Christ's messenger.
The preacher was soon found, for just then all Matamoras was stirred with his words; but it was with great difficulty he could be persuaded to go so far into the country. He had come to Matamoras on only a short visit, and must go back to his own flock. But the planter would take no denial. Go he must, and go he did, to preach to the people of San Roman.
Once more the great bell was rung, and the people came crowding into the patio to hear that gospel which had now become the word of life to them all. When the sermon was over, the host had a question to ask:
"Sir, you have not told us why you were so long in coming to us. Did not Christ tell you before he went up that you were to preach the gospel to every creature? How long ago was that?"
"Eighteen hundred years," replied the missionary, awed by the look of sad surprise which his host had turned upon him.
"'Eighteen hundred years'! And what were the disciples doing, that they did not teach all nations long ago? Surely the Lord said, 'I am with you alway'?"
"Yes," replied the missionary, sadly, "there is par-
